


D/s

by inb4invert



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Play, BDSM, Coming Out, Dom/sub, Dominance, Don't copy to another site, Enthusiastic Consent, Graphic Description, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Guilt, Submission, Trauma, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-01-22 22:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18536977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inb4invert/pseuds/inb4invert
Summary: That thing in me, whatever hidden mechanism set to turning at the sound of his distress--I felt it give a little further. Soften and shift. I looked him over properly then, the whole time feeling himfeel medo it. The awkward haircut just starting to grow out, the thrift store army jacket. Pale skin and long legs and scuffed shoes.Little fighter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetSorcery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/gifts).



> People have been asking why I don't write an overt BDSM gradence story, and honestly it seems like the natural evolution of things to finally buckle down and do it.  
> I've been a Dom for a long time and it's easily the core of my life and how I function even when I'm just on my own. I wanted to tell a story about the way that I think and feel as a Dom, and about that fascinating chemistry that can occur when two people instantly fall into dynamic naturally.  
> It might seem a little over the top that Graves would be this observant and detailed about it, but this is the most blatantly self-insert version of him I've ever written in this sense and I promise it's as authentic as I can get.

I found him crying in the grocery store, doing his best to hide it, and I knew that he needed me. 

It sounds awful to say it like that--sounds arrogant--but that wasn't it. Call it an instinct. He was crying and something in me had to respond. An animal hearing the call of its young and knowing the sound out of all others. It was a quiet thing--like I said, he was trying to hide it, but it cut right through me. The wet little sniff, the shoulder shake. I don't know that I even had a choice. 

He was standing in aisle eight, in front of the soup. Just contemplating those six shelves of brightly colored labels like it was a police line up and someone's freedom was hanging on his verdict. A pale, thin-fingered hand would reach out every few seconds to hover over a potential choice only to be drawn carefully back to wipe at his eye instead. He moved as if he thought the cans themselves might detonate at a touch. 

Down on the floor next to his feet, the red plastic shopping basket sat waiting. So far the only things in it were a jug of two percent milk, a bag of white rice, and the empty anticipation of his next choice. I watched him look down at it for a moment, then back up to the shelf and I could see the pressure, the chasm of possibilities opening up before him. And he just stood there. He was drowning. Little things can be huge when there's been too many of them. Death by a thousand cuts. 

“You can't go wrong with Campbell's," I said, and he turned to look with the panic of startled prey. Caught in the act. 

For a second he couldn't seem to decide on which was more important, assessing the new potential threat or quickly hiding the fact that he'd been openly crying in the middle of a public place. I must've not looked too dangerous--I certainly wasn't trying to for once, because he went with the latter. 

But that's the terrible thing about tears: once they've started up, there's no disguising it. They make up their mind to come and they put a stamp on you. And between men? There really is no greater mark of shame. It takes the prize. That's what it came down to in the end, his default reaction to cover up in front of me. Regardless of what I looked like, whether I was dangerous or not, getting busted crying at the grocery store by another man is far worse than taking a beating, and easily the prelude to taking one anyhow. It wasn't embarrassment so much as self preservation, long ingrained. 

He gave his eyes a rough swipe, turned his face to the side and looked back at the cans like it was all just regular programming, nothing to see here. Cleared his throat. 

“Excuse me, what? Um.” Another sniff. “Uh, sorry." 

"Hey, grocery shopping is a chore even at the best of times,” I told him. 

That got me a sidelong look, assessing, scanning for the expected mockery. Certain of its inevitability. It was too late now, I'd come out and named the crying for what it was. There would be no shrugging it off or blaming it on allergies. I watched his gears turning, mentally reviewing the familiar script of every locker room scuffle he'd ever limped away from. His fingers twitched at his side, hand readying to move for the basket and bolt. Dignity was already a speck on the horizon and he'd leave the basket behind too, if he had to. I could see that. He'd leave all sorts of things behind and keep moving, but he still thought of it as running. If we'd already established I was the one naming things for what they are, I was ready to go ahead and call it survival. 

That thing in me, whatever hidden mechanism set to turning at the sound of his distress--I felt it give a little further. Soften and shift. I looked him over properly then, the whole time feeling him _feel me_ do it. The awkward haircut just starting to grow out, the thrift store army jacket. Pale skin and long legs and scuffed shoes. _Little fighter._

I gave him a frown that I hoped looked like sympathy on my face. “Hey," I said, and I kept it soft. “I mean it. You're clearly having a rough day and sometimes that's all it takes, believe me.” I lifted a hand just slightly, palm outward. Gentling. “I'd like to help you, if I can. If you'll let me.” 

For the first time, he looked back at me fully--no more averted gaze, no shuffling retreat. I'd gone and broken the sacred script and his confusion showed. Stunned him into cautious gaping, eyes red-rimmed and untrusting. “I… I'm not…” 

“Really." I smiled a little sheepishly. "I know it's not my business, but it’s _okay_. You're okay.” 

Something in my face or my words, maybe just the fact that I wasn't out to add to his grief--whatever it was broke the surface tension. That _thing_ happened, that crucial moment of give. Like when a child falls and skins his knee, then gets back up again and toughs it out for a few seconds alone. The moment he knows his pain has been observed, at the sound of the first motherly coo, that's it. Home free. 

He took a deep, sharp breath. Almost as if he'd been struck. Then he ducked his head back down and I saw his brows come together tight. Another deep breath, only this one shook its way in along with the trembling of his shoulders. He gave a choked little sound--words trying to come before his chest was ready to let them. I took a deep, slow breath of my own. It hurt to watch, but he needed to let it come in his own good time, and there was nowhere else I had to be. 

Next came the first proper sob punching its way out of him. 

“I don't… I don't know _how to do this_." 

His words were thick with the crying, voice all twisted up. His shoulders sagged under the endorphin rush of just letting it happen, the relief of the confessional. There he was weeping in front of a stranger like he didn't give a shit anymore and I was proud of him for it. Again, it has the sound of arrogance, but the truth is, I was humbled. I followed an instinct and he did just the same; he took a look and knew I was the one to cry to. That's pure magic, that mutual recognition. That's the magic I live for, and he had it in spades. 

“That's fine," I said. “It's okay not to know. That's the place everyone starts.” 

Another round of silent shaking, those long fingered hands just wiping in frustration, smearing it around some. 

“This is _stupid_ , I'm _so_ stupid..." 

And there it was. Those words weren't his, not really. Maybe no one had taught him how to feed himself, but someone had sure taken the time to teach him _that_. I watched his shoulders heave like maybe he could throw the monkey off his back right there. He might not have known his own words weren't the truth, but his body did, and so did I. 

“Hey, now.” 

I stepped a little closer, making sure to broadcast the movement a good few beats before I made it. He glanced up and stayed put. Progress. 

“None of that kind of talk, hey?"

He sniffed, and this time he shook his head a little sadly as he cried, like there was just no helping it. 

“No, I mean it," I said. “I'm store security and I'm afraid there's no falsehoods allowed in here. This is a family business.”

I saw the momentary flinch at the word _security_ \--his belief that whatever he feared from me had finally come--before the rest of what I'd said sank in. He wiped at his eyes once more and then looked up at me and blinked, frowning in a new way. A thoughtful way. What I'd said had shifted things into an unexpected place and he was considering whether to take it at face value. There was something both hopeful and troubled in the way he bit his lip in thought, and I noticed for the first time how red they were against the paleness of his tear-damp skin. 

It was clear someone had tried and tried to break him and here he was still open to trust. It might sound crazy or unrealistic to say that I saw all this in him at a moment's glance, but I did. You get an eye for something when it's all you look for, when it's your life's focus. I saw it all in him and I wanted it. I wanted his fight, and I wanted his trust. More than any of that, I wanted to be _worthy_ of them. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked. Point blank, no fucking around. 

"Because I have no reason not to be," I told him. “And I think maybe someone who's been pushed to crying over soup deserves a break.” 

His dark eyes widened at that, crying done with. They traced his thoughts along the air, looking for some final argument against my logic and not finding it. Then he just nodded silently, licked his lips and bit down again. 

“What's your name?" I asked. “Is it okay with you if I ask that?” 

He nodded again, his eyes on me huge and haunted. There was a whole universe of feeling in those eyes, a depth of intelligence and sensitivity. This one paid attention and _thought_ about things. Cared about getting it right. This one was tuned right in. 

“Credence," he said. He said it soft and it sounded like an apology. 

“Well, Credence. I'm Graves.” I reached out to shake his hand and after a second of staring at it like he thought it might all still be a trick, he politely took it. His touch was delicate and unsure, like he'd never quite done this before but he'd seen it a few times, maybe on TV. His palm was damp from the tears. 

“Credence, how about we get this thing sorted out?" 

"This…” he frowned, utterly at sea. “My shopping?" 

“Yeah," I said. “You're at the grocery store and you're doing some shopping. So like I said, you can't really go wrong with Campbell's.” 

I stepped to the shelf and grabbed an old classic, the mushroom soup. Credence stood next to me, stoop shouldered and wide-eyed, watching as if he'd suddenly found himself at an important university lecture. He made the transition from one moment to the next with me seamlessly. Interested. _Tuned in_. 

“So I see you've already got the rice and the milk going on," I started, nodding to the basket at his feet. He followed my gaze and regarded the basket with me like he'd never seen it before, then looked back to my face, waiting. 

“These old soups are pretty much the go-to if budget is an issue, and it usually is. Are you a student?” 

"Yeah,” he nodded. "I just started.” 

“So you're on your own for the first time?" That much was obvious, but I wanted to hear it from him. With those searching eyes on my face, I wanted to hear every thought behind them. 

He nodded again and his gaze drifted a little. There was a whole story there, and I wanted all the details but it was too soon for that. No need to start him off crying again. 

“Yeah, like I said before, we all have to start at the start.” I brought his attention back to the can in my hand and he was right there with me, focused as a hunting dog. 

“When I was your age, they used to have a recipe on the back of the label, but now, of course it's on their website.” 

His eyebrows rose with a surprised sort of interest, as if what I'd just told him was absolutely brilliant. It might've been the cutest goddamn thing I've ever seen. 

“So what you do with this one, essentially, is you get some chicken and make a sauce for it out of the soup. Then you put it on the rice, maybe a vegetable for the side, that sort of thing. You can stretch these little dollar cans of soup out for ages, that's what they're about.” 

He stayed silent, listening, but his dark eyes were broadcasting gratitude like I was saving his life. Giving him the secrets of the universe when all I was doing was telling him a few basic pointers on bachelor cuisine. It was poetic in a sense, to find Credence in a grocery store when he was so, so palpably hungry. Hungry for care, for the time and attention I had to give, for knowledge. Credence had been starved out like an unwanted weed when he had an entire rose garden waiting inside of him. 

For a good forty five minutes at least, we went around like that. Our little field trip of two. I showed him what to get and he placed each item carefully in his basket like it was precious cargo. He listened just as carefully, taking instruction like he was born to it. Those soulful eyes barely ever left my face, seeking my response to every tentative question and warming softly at each small encouragement I gave. 

And I gave many, when I could. It was hard to withhold all the praise I _wanted_ to give. Right there, I needed him to understand what I saw in him, all the potential and worth I knew he was still blind to. Because someone was going to have to do it, and soon. 

When I watched him slide his phone out of his back pocket to take notes, I felt that yearning shift in me amping up into something possessive and I couldn't think of anything more important than rewarding him, even if only with words. 

“Good man," I said. “If only my employees would take my advice so seriously. You'll be a gourmet chef by the end of the week at this rate.” 

That got me my first smile out of him, a shy and tremulous thing I wanted to cup in my hands like a firefly and admire before sending back out into the world to soar. 

I couldn't bear the thought of that spark growing dull for lack of nurture. It was nearly an hour we spent together, but all day I could've watched him, just looking at his surroundings and taking them in. The way he wondered about everything he saw, questions forming in his eyes right there for me to see--he had me coveting things. I wanted to be the one to show him something new, watch that curiosity and wonder cross his face and know I had some part in it. It wasn't long before I was asking myself what it might take to see a blush warm that tender skin, what kind of breathy little sounds I could get out of him. Credence was alive and responsive and I wanted him. 

At the same time, I had to mitigate my own rising interest, keep it in check. This was a total stranger and one I might never see again, but somehow I still had the sense that wasn't how this thing was going to play out. We were in each other's orbit now, laying down the groundwork and it wasn't something to be forced or rushed along. I wanted to see him again and I had to trust that I would, just like he was trusting me now. Instincts, that's what it all came down to. 

Once he'd paid up, I walked him outside and we stood for a moment at the curb just regarding each other. It was hard to know what to say, when so much of what had passed between us had done so in silence, and it was all so terrifyingly new for him. I knew it for what it was, but Credence, chances were he didn't even have a name for it yet. The naming of things, that was my job here. 

“So," he finally began, that same little dance of hope and caution. “You work here? Like, the security thing you said?" 

That set my blood to racing, him asking that. 

“Yeah," I answered back, thinking I should rein back on the rasp in my voice, but _fuck it_. He'd shown me something raw in there--let him hear how he'd got me halfway hard just asking a personal question. 

“I run a private security company, I'll be in this place for at least a week before I pass it onto one of my guys.” 

He locked eyes with me then, and there was something new, something brave in there. Here we were breaking all the rules now, to hell with the script--crying, unguarded eye contact--might as well strip down and screw right here on the pavement. Credence was running on pure gut feeling now, no need for the words. _Oh, that's it, little fighter, come on…._

“Thank you," he said, and he kept his eyes on mine. "Thank you for today." 

His cab was pulling up, and he frowned at it out of the corner of his eye. Then he put his bags down on the sidewalk in a last minute decision and darted forward to wrap his arms around me. I knew I had about a half a second before the moment was done, so I turned my face into his hair and said, “Thank _you_. You did good in there.” 

The half second passed and he pulled away with his eyes gone big and full of something that looked a lot like pain. I wanted to pull him back to me--it hurt me just as much not to, but instead I stood and watched him get into the cab looking like he didn't even know where it was taking him.

 

~~~

 

A couple days later, someone at the grocery asked me if I had a kid and I just _knew_. 

I said, “If I have a kid, then somebody's got some explaining to do," and I tried to make it light but however it came out just got me a look. 

“Well, somebody dropped something off for you in the office." 

There was a thermal nylon lunch bag on the table and I unzipped it and then just closed my eyes for a second. Breathed. Opened them again. 

The little glass Tupperware container was still warm when I lifted it out. Inside: chicken on a bed of white rice, covered in mushroom soup, with buttered broccoli nestled on the side. He'd added sauteed mushrooms to the sauce and arranged it all with such attention to detail it looked like the photo you might've seen on the label itself. 

At the bottom of the bag was a little note with his name and number reading: _Thank you again for your kind help. I hope I did this right. Maybe you would let me know?_

I sat down and ate every bite and each one tasted like _please_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I looked up from what I was doing and set the knife down on the counter. Leaned my hip against it and turned to face him. His head was down, still looking at what he'd been doing, but his hands had stilled and he wanted to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small warning for this one regarding homophobia and coming out. 
> 
> Coming out was easily one of the most terrifying experiences of my life and if it was the same for you this chapter might give you some feelings. By all means, talk about that with me if you'd like to, as always.

I called him that same evening, after he'd left the food. Thanked him and told him it was perfect, feeling his pleased little intake of breath move through me like a sustenance all of its own. I thought of his face through the window of the taxi cab--the plaintive slant of his brows as it pulled away from the curb--and I could've stayed on the line just listening to him breathe all night. 

Like a force of nature, he'd gone away from me and come back again with the reliability of the tide pulling in, and I was still euphoric with the realization. Just like that day at the grocery store, both of us were reluctant to let each other go, murmuring _okay_ and _bye_ back and forth like it was some sort of game. We made plans to see each other again two days later, and in between, I got a little weird with it. 

I can't say I've ever caught myself jerking off to the thought of a Tupperware dinner before then, but that's just how he got me. His soft little voice on the phone… I could _hear_ the smile in it and the sound had me rutting into the mattress about two minutes after hanging up the call. He had me getting loud about it, spilling up over my fingers with his name caught in my throat, feeling like coaxing a smile out of him was tantamount to making him cum. It made me weak, the idea that he was thinking of me, wanting to know me, too. I kept finding myself torn between the fear of fucking it all up and the bone-deep certainty that there was no way this thing could go wrong. 

We'd fallen into step so beautifully and I'd let him go out of blind faith only to have him return to me with an offering. I'd been dreaming of someone like him for so long--no, not just _someone_ , it was _him_. There was no one else it could be. What I'd been dreaming of was how and when I'd find him, what he'd look like, his _name_. It felt as if I'd been preparing all my life just for Credence, building up a skill set and making a space custom tailored for this one person to fill. 

So yeah, I let the sweeping violins and the collaring fantasies have their way with me for a couple days. Abused myself like a horny teenager with his first dirty magazine and got it out of my system. Because at the end of the day, for all my buildup, Credence was an inexperienced and very shy young man and what kind of aspirations I might've been tempted to place on his shoulders were my business. Until, and, only _if_ , he wanted to take those aspirations on. Just like it was the first time, he had to be the one to come to me. His _needs_ were what shaped and defined things between us, not _my_ wants. Anyone who tries to tell you this thing works some other way is selling you a line. 

The truth was, I was happy just to spend time in his company, in any capacity. Giddy at the prospect, really. And while I was prepared to be fully honest with him about my life and my interest in him, I'm not normally one for recruitment. 

The day he came over to my apartment, I was just about crawling out of my skin with anticipation. When he finally rang the buzzer, I honestly jumped up out of my seat like I'd been scalded. It had been… a long time since I had that kind of excitement about getting to know someone new. It wasn't sex, as much as that idea itself held the obvious appeal. Sex I could get as easily as opening my phone--nowadays that sort of thing comes with the convenience of ordering a pizza. All day I'd just been contemplating the prospect of the simplest things: watching his hands and how they moved, seeing emotions shift in the features of his face like a breeze passing through the leaves of a tree, listening to him haltingly explore his own thoughts out loud. Japanese poetry type of stuff. 

When I opened the door to him, he came in with the smell of the autumn air still clinging, smiling shyly beneath lowered lashes. His face was flushed, his skin slightly chilled from outside and I knew if I were free to kiss him as I wanted to, his cheek would press cool against the tip of my nose. I felt like the wolf in a fairy tale, dressed in a man's clothes and poorly concealing the urge to simply take him in my grasp and crush the sweetness right out of him. The effort not to touch was an ache running through me with a constant pulse, but it was my ache to bear. The last thing I was here to do was frighten him off now that we were alone. 

Having him in my home was surreal and exhilarating, this boy from the grocery store suddenly there in my apartment out of all previous context. Like having a wild thing, a bird maybe, come in through the window sniffing and blinking at its strange new surroundings. I felt the sudden need to placate, to show him all my comforting things and convince him this was a nice place to settle for a while, or maybe forever. 

Instead, I took his coat and his backpack, gently lifting them away from him without making any contact at all--that rustling, awkward hallway exchange of every first time visitor. 

After I'd set them aside in the hall closet, I leaned against the doorway and watched him acquaint himself with the small kitchen. We had agreed that our plan would be to cook something together, on the pretext that he'd like to keep improving, and he went straight there, almost dutifully--no lingering outside of the intended purpose. 

As though eager to keep with instruction, I realized in awestruck recognition. That sort of willingness to obey is a dangerous thing, something that can easily be misused in the wrong hands and I knew then with perfect clarity that Credence had _always_ been in the wrong hands. He didn't know any other touch. Suddenly, his very presence there, the naive malleability that had him walking into a strange man's home seemed terrifying to me. The most fragile responsibility. At once, I wanted to both admonish and protect him for it. If I hadn't already, I knew then for certain I absolutely could not make a move towards him without his express invitation. This thing with me was going to be whatever he needed it to, and nothing more. 

Just like our first encounter, he took in everything around him in keen, quiet observation. There was something especially vulnerable--something intimate in that--watching him do it and knowing that this time everything he saw was _mine_ , that it told him things about me. Somehow this boy had the power to leave me feeling slowly stripped naked just having him look at my stove top in silence. Those fillet knife eyes could open me up to the quick at a glance, and I wanted to drop to my knees right there and beg his mercy. Because there was no pretending with myself that it was any other way. No matter what happened now there would be no freeing myself from the wanting of him. 

I'm proud to say I managed to remain on my feet for the time being. “Well," I said, “how about I make us some tea and we'll get started on dinner?" 

 

~~~

 

I was showing him the way to chop the onions for the sauce when he said it. He'd been quiet and attentive the whole while, simply following my guidance and doing his best to be helpful. At the same time it was clear he was trying just as hard not to be somehow underfoot, offering quick little whispered apologies every few moments and making himself seem small when in truth he had at least a good inch on me. It was a constant tug-of-war between justifying his presence and hoping to minimize it entirely. 

Based on my observations of him at the store, none of that surprised me. But I had hoped that I might encourage him to feel more at ease with me in my home and instead it seemed the cramped domesticity had him increasingly on edge. Home was a four letter word for him, I could see that, and a very unpleasant picture was quickly forming. I knew that any overt reassurances would have him guiltily apologizing _for_ apologizing, and so I simply smiled away his compulsive _I'm_ sorries and lead by example. He would learn, over time, that I wasn't a threat through the mere fact that I really wasn't one. 

And then he said it, quietly at my side, almost a whisper. 

“I don't know why I cried.”

I looked up from what I was doing and set the knife down on the counter. Leaned my hip against it and turned to face him. His head was down, still looking at what he'd been doing, but his hands had stilled and he wanted to talk. 

“At the grocery store," I said, and he nodded again. Bit his lip. 

He was embarrassed about it still, that much was clear, but more than that I think he wanted to understand what had happened between us and why it had happened in the first place. The nature of our first meeting had started something, had brought him here and now it was a ghost in the room. He was at the mercy of forces and feelings too big to fully grasp yet, and those kind of things can be like getting lost in the forest when you're so fresh to it. 

“Well, Credence," I said, “I think it's safe to say that you were overwhelmed.” I dipped my head, tried to catch his eye. "Which is fully understandable." 

“I... I still feel kind of stupid about it. I mean…” 

Here he finally glanced up to my face, checking to see how I was responding to such a vulnerable admission. Whether it was allowed, talking about ourselves, about _feelings_. I just nodded as encouragingly as I could, kept my face placid, listening. 

“I think maybe I cried because I felt like I should know how to do such basic things, like, I felt dumb for not knowing.” 

He'd never said this much, about anything, in my presence and I was riveted. I was holding my breath, just hearing him sound it all out in a way I suspected he'd rarely had the freedom to do before. Starved out. And he'd chosen _me_ to break his fast. 

“But, then after, I was thinking about what you said." 

His eyes on mine, a longer beat this time, wanting me to know I was a part of this process, wanting me to know he was a good boy who _listens_. Seeking my approval. 

“And it makes sense, what you said about starting at the start. That I… I mean, I've never been on my own before and it's really new. And I guess it's normal for it to be harder, at first.” 

I could've cried, I was so moved. I wanted to punch the air and swing him up into my arms like a child. He'd barely spoken six sentences and he was telling me so much, he was giving me the _world_. On the surface, it might've seemed like hardly anything, but underneath those words all I heard was _I'm listening. I'm taking what you taught me and I'm doing something with it. I don't know why, but you see something good in me and I want to see it, too. You're not wasting your time here_. 

We were doing _the work_. I saw then, how he'd been waiting and dreaming just as long as I had, been keeping a place for me somewhere secret and hidden from prying eyes. Now that fresh, black soil was turned and watered--the seeds of his rose garden already sprouting tendrils towards the light. I've never wanted to kiss someone so badly. I wanted to lay him out and _worship_ , breathe words of praise against his skin. _My good boy._

“That's really good, Credence," I said, and he looked up at me sharply, lips parted on shallow breath. His eyes, fixed and craving on my face had my skin tingling, begging for touch. Had me fighting a soft groan, seeing visions of lifting him up on the counter, dinner be damned. I'd open him up to me with words and fingers, feed him full and gasping with everything I had to give. Reward him with pleasure and watch him bloom. 

“And you're right," I added. “It is harder at the beginning, for everyone. That's just the way it goes.” I gestured down to his cutting board. “Yet here you are, already doing so well. A willingness to learn and improve is just about the best quality you can have on your side.” 

His smile at full force was bone-melting, powerful as the sun. 

 

~~~

 

He surprised me again after dinner, in a way I should've anticipated and somehow didn't. 

We'd spent the meal--a simple pasta dish--sharing polite conversation and shy looks. I say conversation when in truth I did most of the talking while he did the bulk of the shy looking. I told him a few things about my job and he listened with rapt attention, asking a curious question now and then. He seemed far more relaxed now that we'd had our little moment in the kitchen, enough even to tell me a few small things about his life at school and to share the fact that he'd grown up steeped in the church. There was much, much more to that latter revelation, I knew, and plenty of time to get to it when he was ready. His slim fingers nervously twisting in his napkin told me that might not be for a good while, but that sort of box isn't unpacked in one night. 

The surprise, when it came, happened in the living room while we sat facing each other over the coffee table, just enjoying a post-meal cup of tea and each other's company. 

I'd noticed that now the distraction of the cooking and eating was out of the way, his tension had been steadily rising again. Little glances around the room at nothing in particular, fingers intermittently tapping and suddenly stilling against his leg. 

And then. 

“Graves? Um..." 

I raised my brows, wanting badly at this point to hear the thing I'd watched him work up to and then drop several times now. Now that he'd begun, he seemed to know it was too late to back off of it and he was growing visibly shaky.

“Um, was this…? Like, you having me here… was this like a, do you…” 

Christ. Of course. Of course uncertainty and ambiguity made him anxious. And here I'd gone for something over-cautious and I could see he was suffering for it. His cheeks were red enough to look hot to the touch and I could see his pulse shuddering at the base of his throat as he struggled with his words, eyes downturned.

“Credence," I said, and he stopped. Took a deep breath. At this point I was questioning what it was he wanted to hear, but all he was ever going to get out of me was the truth. I'd face the consequences either with him or alone, depending, but I'd face them. 

“If you're asking me whether I like you in _that_ sort of way, then yes. Yes, I like you very much.” 

He blinked at the floor, hands over his knees in a white-knuckle grip. 

“That having been said, Credence, I don't expect anything from you. I'm happy simply to know you--but if my liking you is uncomfortable for you, I understand.” 

“No," he said suddenly, eyes shooting up to my face. “I'm not, it doesn't make me uncomfortable. I just…” 

He closed his eyes and swallowed. I wanted to go to him, crawling if need be, but I stayed put. Whatever we were handling now between us required the delicacy of diffusing a bomb. 

“I was always taught that it's wrong. Between men.” 

I took a deep breath, leaned back into my chair and nodded. “That old chestnut. We were all taught that, some more emphatically than others.” 

Now he looked to me across the room and his eyes were huge, terrified and wondering. He looked on the verge of pleading. He'd been carrying this one long enough it was a part of him, the sour notes of a childhood lullaby that hushed him off to sleep each night and I had an idea this might be his first time even whispering about it. He was laying this fear at my feet like a sacrifice, begging me to take its ancient weight from him. 

“Do you believe it?" he asked. 

“No." I made sure my voice was firm, a final declaration. “No, I don't believe it at all. I have very good reason to believe that it's, in fact, a wonderful thing for two men to care about each other that way.” 

For a moment he just stared at some empty space in the air before him, breathing slowly. His hands were shaking, little tremors against faded denim. Standing at a cliff's edge. I was watching what could be the most crucial moment in his young life, there in my living room. 

“Credence," I asked, “what do _you_ believe?" 

Here he frowned, testing the weight of it once more, the dizzying prospect of just letting something like that go. 

“I used to think that it _must_ be wrong," he said slowly, "but then…. every time I move away from, from those _ideas_ , from the church…. my life gets better. And I'm starting to think that it might not be wrong anymore.” 

I felt the sympathetic relief of his confession like a drug rush. It wasn't even pride so much as the memory of how it had felt for me, the guilt and the fear and the giddy exhilaration of just choosing a new truth, one that felt tangible and right with the body's own certainty. 

“I want you to like me that way," he whispered, and the admission was fragile and potent as a spark. “It feels good that you like me. Because I like you, too.” 

And here we were, already, and there was no turning it around now. He locked eyes on mine again, like he had that day on the curb, chin slightly raised as if in challenge. _My brave little fighter. My good boy_.

Our business was trading moments of truth, it was what we'd done from the very start. He'd just given me everything, placed the purest and most raw of gifts straight into my hands and trusted me with it. I was ready to offer him the same in return, but he needed to know what that entailed, how little or how much of it he was willing to accept. 

“Credence, I'm not going to lie, I want you very much." 

I watched his eyes flutter halfway closed, his nostrils flare. God, if he was this responsive just _hearing_ he was wanted...

“The way I usually do things, when I like someone, it's not always for everyone. And I want you to know that this can be whatever you want it to be, you get to decide. But I can't hide what my life's been about for a long time now, you'll learn about that side of me whether you want any part in it or not.” 

His eyes opened again, holding on me and growing cautious. “What do you mean?" he asked. 

No vagaries, no ambiguity. 

“Are you familiar at all with BDSM? Anything to do with alternative lifestyles or kink?” 

Cautious eyes grew sharp, something hard flashing there. "You like to hurt people?" 

I smiled a little at that, only too sure what he'd heard and how it had been framed for him. “Quite a few people involved in BDSM enjoy hurting or being hurt, in a way that they choose, in a way that they can have control over how and when it happens. Personally, I'm not as excited by that aspect of what is admittedly a very broad range of lifestyles and practices. I'm certainly by no means asking you to let me hurt you. Can you imagine how some people might enjoy a thing like that, on their own terms?” 

He relaxed minutely, his eyes mellowing and eventually nodding slightly. “Yeah, I think I can. See how some people might want that, I mean. If it was their choice.” 

"Credence, it's important to me that you understand how I've typically done things in the past isn't something I expect you to want to be involved in. It's certainly not something that I insist on in any way, if you have interest in being involved with me. I just don't want there to be secrets or surprises.” 

“So, how have you done things? What is it that you do?” 

A defensive note had crept into his voice, but one not strong enough to mask his curiosity. 

“I'll admit, it's something I'm actually quite passionate about,” I told him. "I'm a dominant, a ‘Dom,’ and for me dominance and submission is about absolute trust and transparency. It comes naturally to me to show my affection by taking charge. Taking charge of someone else's experience, creating structure and giving guidance and protection. Doing what I can to take away some of the uncertainty in life and giving stability in its place. In a lot of ways, you could say my style of dominance is much like a loving parent. I don't ever do or want to do anything my partner doesn't expressly desire or agree to themselves. I don't hold the power, I just guide it.” 

He was listening--he always listened--but I could see what I'd said opening up a series of new and unexpected realizations. I watched the conclusions forming on his face, and whatever conclusions he was coming to were beginning to excite him. He was looking at me, regarding me openly now and his apprehension was taking a backseat to what was, at a minimum, intellectual curiosity. 

“I… I didn't know it was like that. I thought it was just like, whips and stuff.” A smile twitched at his lips, nervous still, but calming quickly. “The way you just described it, it sounds… it just sounds like how you already are. With me.” 

I grinned, I couldn't help myself. "You clever boy," I breathed, and he looked up at me, startled and beginning to flush. “It _is_ how I already am, that's why I do what I do. It's just a natural extension of who I happen to be. I would be… Credence, I'd be very happy to set you up with some research material for your spare time if you find the subject interesting and you'd like to explore it. But like I said.” 

His eyes were locked on me, bright and clear, waiting. 

“Like I said, you get to decide. Nothing happens without your say so. That's always how it works, with me. Even if you don't want anything with me at all.” 

His lips parted, eyes roaming my face, flicking over my body so quickly, getting used to the sensation of not having to hide it. His gaze settled on my mouth for a few beats and back up to my eyes. He was making me hard, just looking at me across a room. 

“I _do_ ," he said. “I, I… do want something with you." 

I forced my breathing to slow, opened my posture up, legs wide, neck bare. Dropped my eyes to his mouth and licked my lips and watched him do the same, unconscious--as if watching a yawn spread through a pride of lions like contagion. 

“What do you want, Credence?" 

We _moved_ so easily in tune, like a flock of birds, a school of fish consisting of two. The idea that I was giving him the choice, the power to take or leave whatever he wanted, it was turning him on. Making him bold, the way it had outside the grocery store, bags dropped down on the cement and a glimmer of _fuck it_ flashing in his eyes. I let him see what it was doing to me, what _he_ was doing to me. No hiding between us. 

“I.. I want a _kiss_." 

I nearly groaned right there, the way he said the word, drawing it out like it was the most sinful notion, making it into something luscious. 

“Come on over here and get a kiss, then," I answered, turning breathless and not even bothering to pretend about it. 

He got up carefully from his chair, moving across the room on coltish legs like he was afraid he might scare me off. Then he came around the coffee table, bumping his leg against it in his eagerness and knelt down next to me on the couch, breathing hard. His pupils were blown, eyes dark and roving over my face with naked appetite. 

I could've built a world inside the feeling of that moment and I knew right then I'd never stop chasing it. Credence, alive with the anticipation of my touch, open and wanting. Letting me lead him and trusting the only place I'll take him is someplace _good_. Credence choosing me. 

Every sense in me was narrowed down to only _him_. Warm breath ghosting my skin, the breathy little _click_ in his swallowing throat, the questioning slant of his brows. An eager puppy, sitting patient for a treat. Right then, I'd have rather died than deny him, than fail his perfect trust. 

When I leaned in and lightly brushed my lips against his, he _moaned_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking out a soup at the grocery store, packing a lunch, those are little things. A kiss can be a little thing, too. Just a press of the lips, simple and quick. But things are only as big or as little as they feel, when it gets down to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graves and Credence grow closer. 
> 
> There's a lot in here to do with the importance of clear consent and, as always, if you want to talk about anything that brings up for you, please feel free.

Life is made up of little things. 

Picking out a soup at the grocery store, packing a lunch, those are little things. A kiss can be a little thing, too. Just a press of the lips, simple and quick. But things are only as big or as little as they feel, when it gets down to it. 

I shared a kiss with Credence, and it wasn't my first, but it was just about the biggest thing that's ever happened to me. I kissed him, and he liked it, so then I kissed him again. Felt his lips part under the weight of mine and his tongue slowly get a little brave--cautious swipes against my own, tasting. It was a sort of conversation: feeling him explore a new idea, a new experience without words. Exchanging sensation. _What do_ you _believe?_

With one little kiss we became each other's world. 

And I was happy enough with kisses. More than happy. Credence was only just beginning to learn what touch could be, and I wasn't in any hurry to get my dick wet. You don't go from your first kiss straight into bed, and besides, I was banking up my reserves for the day he decided he _was_ ready. Because if the make out marathons on my couch were anything to go by, I was going to need my energy. Once he'd decided it was safe to try--no lightning striking us down, no terrible hand of God--he was… well, practice makes perfect, right? And Credence wants to get things _right._

Slowly, little baby steps, he was coming out of his shell in more ways than one. Smiling more often, letting out a soft, shivery sound into my mouth now and then. Sharing his _opinions._ And it was a beautiful thing, just spending time, learning each other and letting him get my scent. Rome wasn't built in a day. 

Sunday afternoon found us that way, lip-locked in front of a movie: some science fiction thing long forgotten. Credence was a warm, sighing weight in my arms, melting incrementally. Thawing right out. 

I grazed his neck with a scrape of my teeth and he bleated out a wanton kind of sound, a quick little _hunh_ , just as suddenly stifled against my shoulder. 

Pulling back a bit, I smiled, pet his hair. Met his eyes. “Everything good?" I asked. 

He blushed crimson and pressed his face back to my shoulder. “Mhmm." 

“You know, it's okay with me if you make sounds. I _like_ the sounds. They make me feel good and they let me know how I'm doing. Kind of like applause after a show.” 

Credence let out a sudden bark of laughter, then clapped his hands over his mouth looking pleased and a little scandalized. Sure, I was getting sounds out of him, but this one was completely new and it delighted me to no end to hear it. 

“Did you just…? Say that?” He asked behind his fingers. 

“What?" I raised my brows and kissed the side of his head, grinning. “You don't think my performance is applause worthy?” 

"Oh my gosh!" He covered his face and shook with a fit of giggles, and there was something more rewarding in that than any of the soft hums and breathy noises my kisses had earned me. 

After a moment of his laughter shaking the couch and unwinding something hot and pent up in my chest, he breathed it out, eyes still lively and glittering. 

“Honestly, sweetheart, it's ok to make sounds like that if you want to and it feels good,” I told him. "I'm certainly not complaining." 

He nodded, biting his lip with his big worried eyes on me. 

“And," I added, “it's okay to keep quiet, too. And it's always, always okay to say so if you don't want something or don't like the way something feels.” 

I could see his nervousness increasing, at the simple thought of setting boundaries, of what consequences that might incur. What it could cost him. And I couldn't risk his staying silent about anything out of fear or some misguided idea of politeness. I caught his eyes and held them, ran my hand over the ridges of his spine. 

“I'm _never_ going to get angry with you for telling me if you don't like something, or push you to let me keep up with it. _No_ isn't a bad word in this house, okay?” 

He was nodding, eyes drifting down again but I could see that it wasn't setting all the way in, not with the relief I was looking for. 

“I'm not going to get bored with you if you don't _put out_ , Credence.” 

His head jerked up a touch, startled. He looked at me for a long pause and didn't say anything and I knew that had been it. God only knows what he'd heard about the things men would expect of him if he ever decided to venture out into all that. I didn't want that fear lingering anywhere around my touch, that we might be one whispered protest away from something ugly and beneath me. The boogeyman in the room. 

“Credence," I said. “I _mean_ it. I don't ever want something from you if it isn't _so_ enthusiastically given. I'm not some horny kid in the backseat on prom night here. I'm very happy just to be in your company sitting across the room if that's all you wanted. I can take care of myself.” 

Another blush then, sudden and hot across his cheekbones at my accidental revelation. Hearing me talk about _taking care_ of myself. 

“I.. sometimes would do that, at home," he admitted softly, blush darkening. "But I was always scared that someone would hear me, that I'd get caught. My ma and my sisters were always around, it seemed, and the walls were thin.” 

I could only imagine how skittish an environment like that would make any young man, especially one so sensitive as Credence. And knowing it was most likely _other_ young men he'd been thinking of in those private moments… the whole thing would've built up to something like a criminal act in his mind. 

“Hmmm, yeah that complicates things," I said. 

He smiled a little. “But it's… easier at the dorms.”

I had to chuckle at that one. “Yeah, I can imagine there's quite a bit of business being taken care of in a dorm. Definitely the place for it.” 

He was still blushing, but here he gave me a long look, this one more probing, assessing. Full of something he was working up to. I'd been getting accustomed to that look for a good week now and the thoughts cooking up behind it were coming more easily each time. 

“I…” He looked down to his lap, his tapping fingers. "I've thought about you. When I've… done that." 

I honestly don't know if he understood what an affect on me his words might take, but as soon as they'd left his mouth they went straight to my cock. It wasn't a confession of some awful sin he was showing me, it was...more like he wanted to offer it as an intimacy between us, now that we'd stumbled onto the subject. He wanted me to know that he thinks about me in an erotic way, bring me into that experience even if only second hand. 

“Credence," I said and it came out sounding like a holy word. It was something almost mystical, how he got me so deep, right at first glance. The smallest, most mundane things became suddenly meaningful and brimming with power. I've had enough guys tell me I'm their jerk off go-to fantasy without even a twitch. But Credence… maybe it was just knowing what it took for him. Not only to do it in secret, but to _tell_ me about it. That he would explore his capacity for pleasure with me on his mind--that he'd even once dared to ride that feeling out hard and slick in his own fist--that made it into something sacred. 

He was still looking at his lap, posture gone a little stiff now that he'd spoken, waiting maybe for me to make a corny joke out of it. But that shifted into a whole other gear when I got my voice back and kept talking. 

“That makes me feel so good, you saying that. You have no idea." 

He glanced over at me, caught my eye for a second and let it go again. A nearly imperceptible smile curved the corner of his lips, still crimson and kiss-stung. 

“Credence, I won't lie. I think about you when I touch myself, too. I think about you all the time no matter what I'm doing.” 

He turned himself to me fully now, a sensual study in contrasts: pale skin, full lips red and shining with our mingled spit, cheeks ruddy, eyes gone nearly black. I wasn't sure I could get harder until I did. 

“You do?" He whispered. I don't know how it was possible, but he seemed genuinely shocked to hear it. “Do you think… do you think maybe we've done that at the same time?" 

"Oh god baby, I hope so.” 

That searching look again, buzzing with an agitation behind it now. Hands twisting at his pant leg. 

“Credence… whatever it is, you can tell me, okay? Whatever's on your mind, there's nothing wrong you can say here.” 

"I… I _can't_ ," he said. “I want to, but I'm... it's..." 

“Why don't you text it to me?" 

“...What?" 

“We text all the time, baby. If you want to say something, but it's too hard to say it out loud, then go ahead and text it to me if you think you can.” 

He was nodding, his eyes still on my face while he reached into his pocket and took out his phone. Then I watched him look down at it in his lap and tap out a quick message with shaky fingers. 

A second later, I felt my phone vibrate in the back pocket of my jeans and moved to grab it out, nearly hissing as the denim shifted against my hard-on. I unlocked the phone and swiped his text open and then just stared at it for a second, so turned on I thought maybe I was seeing things wrong. 

_would it be ok if i can see you do it? will you show me_

I put the phone down and started fighting with my belt, already beginning to breathe hard over the clattering sound of the buckle coming undone. “Oh fuck yes, you can, Credence," I managed to rasp out. 

He sat up straight, all attention now, eyes so dark and huge on me. His hands were gripping at the knees of his pants in fistfuls and he licked his lips and bit down on them when he saw me draw myself out with a hiss. 

Once my cock was open to the air, hard and bobbing gently in my grip, something almost like a swoon came over his face, the slack-muscled look of a drug hitting the system. 

I don't think I've ever been so aware of my body, felt so _seen_ as I did in that moment. Every detail of my arousal took on a perfect clarity, something close to pre-battle adrenaline crystalizing every sense into sharp focus. Credence was looking at me like I was Godlike, the Originator, the creator of sex itself. I'd say I felt like the hottest thing on earth if he wasn't perched there next to me claiming the title: my panting, moon-eyed beholder. 

When I gave myself a slow stroke, drawing back the hood all the way, a pearl of fluid welled up out of the tip and I heard him make a soft little sound and then swallow loudly. My head hit the back of the couch and I let out a groan. 

“Sweetheart, I know I was joking about performances, but I gotta tell you I'm not gonna last long here.” I glanced down at the business in my lap, then turned to watch his face, riveted by what he was seeing. I wasn’t just showing myself to him, _he_ was the one showing myself to _me_.  
“I'm so hard for you, baby,” I breathed and my voice was going shivery already. I hadn't lied: I was already close. I'd been hanging onto this one for a while. “This is what happens when I think about you. My sexy boy.” 

I got to work--languid strokes to draw it out as long as I could, thrusting up into the slide. Small whimpering sounds punched their way out of me and I didn't stop them: he wanted to see, wanted to _know_ and I wasn't hiding anything here. 

I couldn't take my eyes off his face. Seeing what the sight of me was doing to him, you'd think he was the one jerking off on the couch in the middle of the afternoon. “Do you like this, baby?" I asked him. “Do you like watching me, seeing what I have for you?" 

His brows drew tight together, overcome with a feeling that was bigger than both of us and I saw tears spring to his eyes. Not bad crying, not sadness. The best kind of crying, about as good as the orgasm I was working myself up to. 

“Yes," he choked out. “Graves, I like it… you're beautiful, you're so beautiful." 

I could just about conquer the world, the kind of ego he was fixing to give me--crying at the sight of my cock. _Moved._

The feeling had me like a fist, a tight, coiling grip of pleasure building at the base of me. Over the sound of the stupid movie still playing on the TV, the wet, lewd noise of what I was doing had me feeling close to crazy. Everything between us was so raw and real, always--I found him crying in a grocery store and now here I was fucking myself for him in the middle of a normal Sunday. We were in the business of baring ourselves. 

Credence was beginning to rock softly in place, and when I realized he was doing it in time with my strokes, I nearly came right there. 

“Graves," he said, voice urgent and his hands fluttering up uncertainly towards me. “Can I kiss you?" 

“ _Please_ ," I gritted out. 

He leaned forward with his arm bracing over me to grip the back of the couch and pressed his mouth hot and clumsy over mine. I moaned into it and he whimpered back. In the back of my mind, I thought _I'm gonna cum over both of our clothes_. 

“Graves," he said suddenly, just over my mouth. There was something almost panicky in the sound and I stilled myself instantly, gripping myself at the base. 

“Do you need me to stop?" I panted out. “Is it too much?" 

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to my shoulder, breathing hard. “No, no it's not too much, I just….” A long, deep breath. "I want to cum with you and I don't think I can stop it but I don't want to take my clothes off.” 

The words came out all in a rush, and I just nodded, caught between problem solving calculation and how excited I was at the prospect of having him cum for me. _With_ me. 

“Okay,” I said, thinking it out. "Okay baby, I've got a washer and dryer in my suite and we can clean up after if you think you're about to cum. If you want to do that with me, I've got stuff we can wear in the meantime and I'd be more than happy to share this with you. If it's what you want.” 

It was hard even getting out the words, holding onto thought with my cock standing at attention between us and more than ready to go off. He nodded against my shoulder vigorously and whispered “yes, yes _please_ I want to." 

“Baby, I'm close, I'm really close,” I said, still holding myself firm. 

"Me _too_ ,” he moaned out and then he pressed his lips hard against mine and pushed his hand between his legs, rolling the heel of his palm over himself through his pants. 

I gave myself a slow stroke with him leaning over me--his tongue in my mouth and feeling himself up, getting off on me. One more swipe over the head and I was cumming, everything just _Credence Credence Credence_. 

As I pulsed out onto myself, he pulled back just enough to see and the sounds he made above me as he rocked into his own palm brought a second wave of it over me hard. He sounded as if he was getting _fucked_ as he came with me, like I was bone deep inside of him still fully dressed next to me on the couch. 

“ _Hunh hunh huhhh_ ..." Sharp, wounded sounds--his breath hot against my mouth. I caught him in a kiss, deep and searing, devouring. Those sounds were mine, something to survive on. He _gave_ them to me. _My brave boy_. 

I pulled him to me, murmured thanks and sweet words of adoration into his black curls, kissed them against his neck. _Perfect. Beautiful. Thank you for this, my sweet boy. Thank you._

For a long while, we stayed that way. Breathing together and deepening the bond, just basking in what a thing could _mean_. 

Life is made up of little things, but nothing was little with Credence. Not one breath, not a touch, not a single thought. 

There's nothing small about love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so. This one delves into some Subject Matter. 
> 
> But I would be a bald-faced liar if I said that I've ever taken on a sub who wasn't struggling with some form of anxiety/mental illness, or an eating disorder or addiction. This stuff is prevalent and we're talking about Credence here. I hope this story is cathartic for everyone and I promise I'm never taking things to some jarring, upsetting place. 
> 
> As always, if it makes you feel something you want to talk about, I'm here.

On Tuesday, Credence was feeling a little under the weather--his voice thick and croaking over the phone--so after he was finished class and I was done with work, I had him over for some TLC.

There we were cuddled up together on the couch with Credence wrapped in a duvet like a human burrito, sniffling away under the sound of the TV. He was dopey and soft in my arms--I'd been plying him with medicine and juice all afternoon, not to mention cup after cup of hot tea.

This was the first time I'd had the opportunity to really take care of him in such an indulgent way, and I was taking full advantage of it. The secret stuff of fantasies. And while at first he seemed somewhat embarrassed and unused to the attention, he was quickly warming up to the whole thing.

His head was a gentle weight on my shoulder and every now and then I'd turn my face to kiss his hair and brush it from his eyes, testing the warmth of his forehead as I did. I wasn't thrilled about the sickness itself, but I didn't at all mind the feeling of domestic comfort between us-- in particular the knowledge that he was mine to care for. He was _my_ responsibility, and that fact gave me more satisfaction than I quite knew what to do with. Especially considering how far I'd be happy to take it, if given license.

On that count, we hadn't spoken much since the first time I'd laid it on him. After that initial conversation, and the (admittedly lengthy) distraction of first kisses, I had shown him a few good resources along with my own personal FetLife profile. And then I'd essentially left him to it, to explore it as far as he desired. I hadn't been lying when I told him it wasn't a deal breaker between us, and I certainly wasn't going to push him into considering it if the idea held no natural appeal.

And still, somehow the potential for it to hold _no_ appeal at all seemed slim. Because Credence was a natural through-and-through. If I had doubts about whether or not it was a case of only nurture, or rather, _lack_ of it, I wouldn't have even thought of proceeding with him in that vein. So I shouldn't have been surprised when he broached the subject again, in his usual cautious manner. I _shouldn't_ have, but I guess a part of me was--at least that it came about so soon.

Lying there together, he shifted against me, turning his head up slightly to watch my face for a moment while I stared off at the TV in post-work listlessness. I could just about _feel_ the question brewing in his mind, abandoned phone still glowing in his lap.

“Hmmm?" I murmured, kissing the side of his face again.

He sighed. “Can I ask you something?"

I clicked the TV on mute and turned to look into his face fully. "Of course you can. Always."

His gaze drifted down to his phone again and he reached for it. “Um, I've been reading about what you told me, the um… lifestyle stuff.”

"Oh?”

"Mhmm.” He bit his lip and blinked up at me. “Is that okay?”

I smiled, did my best to keep it neutral. I didn't want him coming away with the sense that there was some conclusion I had a personal stake in his coming to. “Yeah, it's okay. I showed you where to look, of course it's all right with me. It's nice that you want to know about my life, actually.”

He smiled back a little, nervous still, but encouraged. I honestly couldn't wait to hear what he had to say about it, what his active mind might've been wondering.

“I looked at your profile that you showed me," he said. "I made one of my own so I could read it, but mine doesn't really have anything on it yet.”

"Okay, that makes sense." I stroked his hair back from his forehead, made sure he knew everything was fine. “And I'm guessing you have some questions?"

“Yeah," he nodded. “Can I open it up and we can look at it together?”

"Absolutely. That's a good idea."

He smiled a little wider as he lifted his phone and swiped it up to the page he had ready, leaving me reassured that whatever he wanted to know, it wasn't troubling to him. His face was calm and open with clear interest.

It was an odd feeling, seeing the familiar black screen on his phone and the icon pic of my hand. Like that first time having Credence himself in my home, I had the surreal sense of seeing it with new eyes by the simple fact of its being out of context. I felt an anticipation now, knowing it was actually _Credence's_ eyes I was about to see myself through yet again.

A part of me was self-conscious, wondering if anything he'd seen there was ominous to him in some way, or even just simply _cheesy_. And the greater part of me, the part we were about to discuss...that part wanted to see _everything_ through Credence, _feel_ every minute of the day with him like a second skin. It wasn't really sexual, that want. Simply a need to be all the way inside of him with no separation, and I had to admit to myself how much I was hoping he'd want that, too.

Over his shoulder, I saw across the top of the screen a banner in bold red font saying:

**Let's accomplish something together**

Below that, the bulk of the write-up itself:

_The core of my being is focus. I revel in the opportunity to hone any skill, and my favourite skill to use is the one that finds and carves out your best nature._

_I consider things carefully and at length, and I act with intention. If I'm saying or doing something, there's a reason for it and that reason has been painstakingly thought out._

_For me, D/s is about unabashed self disclosure. It's a bond of trust and commitment characterized by shared goals, values, and a determination to constantly improve. It's a way of life wherein all parties involved can be free and enabled in their quest to fully self-actualize._

_I seek out the one who will be both muse and the work that they inspire._

_Emphasis on: meditation, tantric breathing, eye contact, CMNM, orgasm control/edging/male multiple orgasm, prostate massage, topping, fisting, power exchange, Owner/pet and Daddy/boy dynamics._

Seeing it all laid out this way--not for the consumption of some eagerly searching submissive--but for Credence, new to the very ideas enclosed… I could only imagine he had questions. In that moment I considered myself unfathomably lucky that none of this had sent him packing.

“I've… read it over a few times,” he admitted, and I wasn't in the least surprised to hear that.

“I would've done the same thing in your position," I said. “And your thoughts?”

He gave me a wide-eyed stare, a hint of a blush beginning to stain his cheeks.

“Yeah, you've definitely got a lot of _those_ ," I laughed. “You can't say anything wrong here. I'm all ears."

The tips of his own ears flushed red and he turned back to the phone. “Well, first it just… it sounds so much like you. Especially the part about acting with intention.”

He smiled and gave me a soft look, then. It made absolute sense he would hone in on that one, knowing how much uncertainty and vagueness frightened him.

“And then, what you said about D/s, what it is for you…. I didn't know it was anything like that. That it could be about those things. Those are all good things.”

He spoke that last bit softly, and something in me started up with a sweet ache. I wanted to kiss him and tell him how much it meant--to have him see these things about me and see the good in them. The good in _me_ , in the way that I choose to love. I wanted to tell him, but I didn't dare and derail whatever else it was he wanted to say.

“When you wrote," he began, and here he traced his finger along the line in question, _“the one who will be both muse and the work that they inspire_ , what do you mean by that?”

He turned his eyes on me again, with the guileless curiosity of a child and I wanted to think there was something hopeful in his look, I wanted to think that confidently without wondering if it wasn't my _own_ hope I was seeing there.

“Well," I said, struggling to find a way to better illustrate what was for me a feeling of longing deeper and more vast than any clever turn of phrase could really capture. “What I mean by that is, over a long span of time, I've built up a set of skills and experience that I feel compelled to share with someone in a way that inevitably improves us both in the process. That… this person and their inherent qualities would inspire in me the need to pour those skills and experiences into them, and they themselves would be the end result of it all--how it changes them and makes them grow. They would be everything, a loop, so to speak. Calling out what's best in me and letting it bring out what's best in them.”

I stopped, feeling myself begin to ramble. Credence swallowed once and licked his lips, staring at my face for a long enough moment that I could feel _myself_ beginning to blush for once.

“I.. it's something I've been," I started to say--but he cut me off, raising suddenly up to press his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around him, the lanky stretch of his upper body where it emerged from the cocoon of the duvet like some strange beached mermaid. For a moment the kiss was returned without question before he pulled back again.

“It's beautiful," he whispered, his breath soft against my overheated skin. “That's a beautiful thing to say."

I'm not used to feeling exposed the way I did then, so easily winded. But Credence had that way, always, of making me see how dear something really was to me. Of making me feel how long I'd carried it around with me--the lonely waiting hidden in the words of that one embarrassingly earnest sentence I'd typed out who knows how long ago on a fetish website--of all fucking places to bare one's soul.

“You don't think it's a little… intense?” I asked softly.

He shook his head, no hesitation, no trace of a lie. It suddenly struck me then: that I couldn't even _imagine_ him lying to me, somehow.

“I think it's amazing that you would want to put that much of yourself into someone,” he said. Then he smiled and shrugged a little, blushing again. “The boys at school aren't like that. I think it would feel so good, having someone want to give all that to you.”

He had me speechless, afraid to move. I would take him, any way he wanted to give himself to me, I would take him gladly. Yet here I was feeling as though I were caught frozen in a forest glen, holding an apple on the palm of my hand out to a skittish doe. I could not force those final steps, they were only his to take and one wrong twitch might send him fleeing away from me, for nothing. I think that was the moment I first realized how painfully I'd grieve to ever lose him.

“Well," I finally said, "maybe it comes with age. I can't quite say why I am the way I am, but I'm very glad _you_ think it's a good thing, never mind the boys at school.”

His blush deepened and he curled himself into me, tucking his head under my chin. I let out a long breath, trying not to let the tension of its release sound too vocally in my chest. Not running away, then. Okay.

Still, it wasn't lost on me, the way he'd shifted so I couldn't see his face. I heard him lick his lips, watched him run his thumb along the side of his phone again and again. Working up to it.

“I've been reading about this stuff a lot," he finally whispered. He took a breath, and I rubbed my hand over the length of his slender arm, soothing. _I'm not going anywhere, either_.

“Um, I've been reading about so much of it, especially about being a submissive and what that means and what kinds there are. And… I relate to a lot of it. Like, a _lot_ of it. I wish I'd known about all this before, but maybe it would've just scared me if I had. If I'd known when I was still at home, I mean.”

I leaned my head back against the couch and nodded. Gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I think you might have a very good point there,” I said. "And while it may seem overwhelming to find all this stuff now, you've got tons of time and you're in a better space to look at it and think it through. And I'm always happy to tell you about anything you might want to know.”

For a long moment I just listened to his breath and underneath it, the churning of his thoughts so strong I could nearly feel them working where his head was pressed against my chest. I knew there was some reason he'd been compelled to bring it up with me, sensing that same decisiveness I'd seen so many times now cropping up in him at crucial moments. Now, I knew, I would soon learn what that reason was and I kept myself as neutral to it as I possibly could.

“Do you..." he eventually began, in a voice like spun glass, more hesitant and whisper-light than I'd ever heard from him before. “Do you think we could try it, something like that? I mean, if it's something you'd be open to…”

He tucked himself up even closer, as if cringing away from the possibility of rejection itself, seeking the safety of my arms. I prayed to God he wouldn't notice the way my pulse started up, hearing those fragile words and the even more fragile hope laced through every syllable. He had to want this for _himself_ , he had to need this as badly as I did for it to be right. Anything else was playacting.

“Credence." I put my arms around him and held him to me, breathing in the faint fruit scent of his shampoo. “Is this something that you really want? Because you don't have to want this just to please me in some way, you know that, right?”

“I _do_ know that," he said. "I honestly do. You're always good to me and I know you'd still want me even if I wasn't into any of that. But…”

He shifted in my grasp to look up at me fully. “Meeting you, and it being _you,_ and learning about this stuff through you, it's been…. like it just makes _sense_ in a way things almost always don't. I mean, maybe I would've found my way to it on my own, some other way, but I think that I definitely _would've,_ eventually. Because this is stuff I've been thinking of for… God, I don't know how long. Since always. And I'm so glad I came to it through you.”

He brushed the tip of his nose against mine and placed the softest kiss against my lips, searching my eyes the whole time. I could hardly breathe, I was so damn proud of him. Not for wanting what I wanted-- _fuck that_ \--but for him to identify on his own terms, to be brave enough to look at these things he'd been warned against on pain of hellfire, look at them with his own eyes and deliver a speech like that…. God, how far he could go. Was _already_ going. And he wanted me to help take him there.

“If that's how you feel about it, then yes, of course we can try it. We don't have to get into anything heavy right away, or _ever_ , if it's not what we want. We make the rules, okay? There's no one way to do this.”

He _beamed_ and the sight gripped at my heart with all its claws out. He was asking me to declare my claim on him and yet he _owned_ me already, mind, body and yearning soul.

“So, what do we do now?" he asked. “Like, how do we proceed?”

"Well, I think what I'd like is for you to spend some time considering what you want out of something like this, and how you ultimately want to feel in it. How do you want to feel, as a sub, what kind of goals do you want to reach? And what do you want from a Dom that will help make those things happen? How can a Dom specifically be an asset to your life in that way. And then, write it down for me. Does that make sense?”

He was nodding softly now, mind already running with it. Entertaining the possibilities with excitement rather than the trepidation I'd seen in him that first time in aisle eight. The terrifying wall of options. I wasn't going to give him a hard deadline on it, but already I was nearly impatient to hear what he'd bring me. Because I knew, like with everything else, he was going to apply himself to the task completely.

“So it's like an assignment?" he asked.

I smiled. Kissed his ear, the side of his face where his hair was beginning to curl. “Yeah, that's a good way of putting it. Now how about we get you some soup?”

 

~~~

 

We were sat at the table across from each other when it happened. When that last little piece clicked into place.

I was eating already, nearly faint with hunger after a long day, just watching him settle in. Outside of that first visit to my place, we hadn't eaten together much and it was nice, a fitting end cap to the domestic scene we'd been making together all day. I was still warm with the satisfaction of our conversation, almost cautious around my feelings, my unbelievable fortune. The gift of Credence.

He lifted his spoon and held it in place for a moment and then carefully set it down. I thought maybe he was gearing up to say grace and was self-conscious over it--I was even on the brink of telling him to go ahead, when he lifted the spoon once more and then did it again. And then again. Lifting it up and setting it firmly back down, carefully lined up. After the third time, he let out a long, quivering breath and reached for it once more and I was suddenly dizzy with the recognition, that tight nauseous weight of anxiety curled like a parasite in the pit of my stomach.

I thought of his pale hands, hovering before the cans on the shelf. Reaching forward and pulling back, reaching forward and pulling back. His nervous tapping fingers, the knobs of his spine beneath my stroking hand. All those things I'd seen in him, those furtive little details--all suddenly spoke of a demon far darker and insidious than one cruel woman, or even the far-reaching dogmas of the church. It was a demon I knew far too well. The spectre of Uncertainty itself. _Oh, my poor boy._

I set down my own spoon, slowly, no sudden movements. “Credence," I began.

He looked up at me, hand in mid-reach for that spoon and there it was, in his eyes: absolute fear. The doe in the glen, petrified and ready to bolt. I don't know if it was something in my tone or the way he saw my eyes fall to his hand frozen in place, but he knew what was coming. Just like it was with the crying, that very first day--there would be no hiding now.

“Credence, do you… have little habits you feel compelled to keep? Repetitive habits. Like maybe it would be bad not to keep them?”

He just stared, breathing slowly, carefully, like maybe he thought if he just stayed still enough I wouldn't be able to see him.

“Credence, you need to know, nothing bad is going to happen if you don't do it just right with the spoon there. It's going to be okay, the spoon isn't part of anything important.”

I watched him take in a deep, shuddering breath--one I also recognized from our first meeting, only this time I was already up out of my chair and halfway to him when the sob broke from him with unprecedented violence. He curled in on himself in the chair, hands to his face, rocking slightly and struggling to take in another breath against the expulsion of sound. I'd thought the grocery store was hard to watch, and I've seen a lot of bad things in my life, but this was one of the hardest goddamn things I've ever witnessed. He hadn't wanted me to see what I'd seen, and now that I had--performing my personal magic of _naming_ things, he had to see it, too.

I got to my knees next to the chair and wrapped my arms around him, tried to shield him with my body from all the hurt he was releasing. That he'd been _carrying_.

“I..." he managed and then for a moment just shuddered, gripped so hard with silent sobbing it felt like a seizure against me.

A deep breath, and then he nearly wailed the words.

“I think I might be a really _bad per-er-sonnn...."_

“Aw, god Credence…” At first it was all I could say. He really believed it. He believed it all the way.

“Credence, you're not a bad person. The words will sound trivial right now, but you have obsessive compulsive disorder, and there's things we're going to do to help with that, okay? I know you're scared about your bad thoughts and right now they're running the show, but they don't have to be.”

I let him cry it out, listening to the wrenching sounds tearing their way out of him like gunfire and feeling his shakes begin to wind down before some new, awful, private pain would reinforce itself and the sobbing started back up again. I don't know how long we stayed this way, him pouring it out and the sun going down below the buildings outside the window. After some time--soup cold on the table and the room gone close and dim--he slid down out of the chair and crawled into my lap like a small child and clung to me.

“I think such bad things all the time," he whispered, and I closed my eyes and felt the tension leave me like pulling a plug. He'd listened. He was listening, even through all that. He'd heard what I said, what I'd _named_ and he saw the truth in it.

“I know you do, baby. Believe it or not, I've had my own experience with this thing too. That's how I know what it is and what we can do about it. I know someone I'm going to send you to and we'll start from there, okay?”

He lifted his head slightly, a quick, sudden upward jerk. “That's… I don't have insurance for something like that,” he said.

"Credence, love.. . that's the last thing I want you to worry about right now.”

He shook his head, beginning to cry all over again."No, that's too much, I can't let you do that!"

He buried his face against my chest and heaved another sob, big panicked breaths starting to grip him and I knew this time I was going to hear the heart of it.

“I'm a bad person and i'm _greedy_ and you're so nice to me and now you're saying you'll do this thing… and I'm such a fucking mess and I want this _so much_ … and I'm going to lose you. I can't… I'm gonna ruin everything I always _ruin everything…”_

“Credence." I took his shoulders and lifted him away from my chest and he let me move him like a rag doll. Like he figured this was _it_ and the fight just left him. I wiped the tears from his cheeks with both hands, and then held his face between them.

“Credence, you said you want this so much, just now. You said you want this and _so do I_. I want this, I want _you_ so fucking badly I can hardly breathe with it.”

He'd gone still, his face between my palms gone nearly catatonic under the fatigue of it all, but his eyes were steady on me. He needed to hear this and we both knew it.

“If we're going to do this, Credence, if we're _really_ going to do this, then you're my responsibility now. You're mine to care for now. And I'm only ever going to be as good as your _willingness_ to _let_ me be good. This isn't an obstruction to what we're about here. I'm not going to tire of you because there's work to do or because you have problems. I'm a self-respecting grown ass man and I can handle a few problems. God knows I've had enough of my own to get through.”

I kissed his face and his eyes slid shut so I kissed them, too. He listed forward in my grip, slowly, drowsily seeking me out.

“Credence, if you want this as much as I do, then that means I'm going to be your Dom now. I have the means and the desire to help you and I need you to consent to that. In order to do what we have to do, I need you to let me help you because I love you and because I _can.”_

His eyes flickered open and held on me.

Well, shit. I was living up to this business of naming things.

“You…”

"Yes, Credence, I love you. Please, please let me. Let me love you.”

He got his arms up around me and buried his face in the crook of my neck, that safe little hollow that belongs only to him. “I love you, Graves," he choked out, the sound of the words as raw and stripped down with his tears as the feeling behind them. “I love you, please… please I want to be yours. I love you so much.”

_"Baby..."_

He'd been denied so much, had learned denial as a way of life. That was ending, right there, right then on my dining room floor. We already knew what he could go without. Now we were going to find his capacity to _receive._

“Can I stay? Can I sleep here?" He spoke the words against my skin, pressed tightly in the space below my ear. Unwilling to be even a breath away from me.

I sighed, sagged under the weak relief.

“Yes, Credence. Of course you can sleep here."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd been right to be nervous. I had a panicky moment--that same thing I'd seen in Credence when we met, of feeling the tears sting in the back of my eyes and knowing I was going to lose that battle already. I pressed my thumb and forefinger hard against my eyelids, almost as if I could hold the tears in by force and I heard Credence make a soft sound next to me, his hand a comforting weight over my forearm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to have some heavy emotion. 
> 
> Credence is undergoing something called Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, or ACT. It's something I employ in my own life, under the guidance of a therapist and I quite love it. 
> 
> Credence will be acknowledging some of the extent of his abuse and Graves will be having feelings about that. It's some heavy stuff, with a very happy resolution, so hang on for that. Things will be lightening up quite a lot here on in. And yes, Credence really did type out the words "blush emoji" because we all know he's adorable. 
> 
> I'm here if you need to talk about what this might've brought up for you, too. This is a two-way street here.

“You ready? I've got one more here for you."

“Mhmm.”

Credence opened his mouth, a soft parting of the lips that I watched every single time as if in slow motion, pink tongue couched glistening against white teeth, expectant. Anticipating what I have to give. Trusting it will only ever be something good, never more than he can take.

I brought the spoon up to his mouth, saw the way his warm breath ghosted over the metal, little licks of steam frosting it and then dissipating. He dropped his jaw a little further at the touch of it against his full lower lip, opening wider. Then he met my eyes, taking in the question angling my brows and gave a tiny nod.

I slipped the spoon into his mouth, that waiting space, disappearing in darkness and heat. His lips closed softly around it and after a second, I slid it back out, clean again. My hand cupped warm against the side of his neck, thumb nestled gently in the space below his ear, a perfect fit. That single bite of food was on its way to being a part of him now, to nourish and sustain him. An emissary of my care, my love.

“Good?" I asked him, stroking around to the back of his neck. _I'm here, it's safe. You're not doing this alone._

He nodded, tongue flicking out over his lips to catch the last of the taste. “Mhmm."

"Okay, one more and then we're done.”

I repeated the process, a sort of meditation. Lifting the spoon, watching him accept. The doe in the glen again, feeding delicately from my fingers. Beautiful.

Once the task was finished, I set the spoon into the bowl with a hollow click. I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then his lips still sticky and berry-sweet.

“That's it. You finished it, _my good boy."_

His eyes flicked down to the empty bowl, a touch of stillness in his posture, a little trace of unease.

“I ate _all_ the crumble?" He asked softly. The words held an undertone of dismay, a shiver of guilt.

“No,” I said, “not all of it. There's plenty left for me, too. What you finished was the one reasonable portion we decided on for you.”

I tilted my head and caught his eye, let the warmth brim over in my own as I smiled. “How do you feel, baby? Whatever it is, it's okay."

Credence licked his lips and shrugged one-shouldered. Let out a slow breath. “Um, a little freaked out, but it's not like… _horrible.”_

"Okay, that's just fine. Only to be expected. What did Doctor Piquery say about it?”

He brightened a little at the mention of her name. “She said to sit with the thoughts and feelings and just… observe them in a neutral attitude. Like, just see them for what they are and it helps diffuse them. Because they're just thoughts.”

 _“Good boy,"_ I said again and he blushed, smiling shyly. “You're doing such a good job of it, Credence. And I know she’s going to be very proud of you, as much as I am. Because I am, so, so proud of you, baby boy.”

The blush spread crimson now across his cheekbones and he ducked his head, lip caught between his teeth.

“Do you want to come here in my lap for a bit?"

He nodded vigorously and crawled up into the cradle of my folded legs on the carpet, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pressing the heat of his blushing cheek against my neck.

 _“Thank you, Daddy."_ The words moved in a whisper of sweetened breath along my collarbone.

A few moments of soft silence and then:

“Did you know they made cats that can glow in the dark?" he asked me.

"They… huh. Did they really?” I pulled back a little to look in his face, frowning. There was only an eager mirth there now.

“Mhmmm, I saw it on the internet. They do it with jellyfish DNA.”

 

~~~

 

Acceptance and Commitment. There was magic in those words. An entire way of life.

Before Credence, I'd been living with the best of myself held in reserve. Doing what, exactly? Going to work and watching Netflix at the end of the day, reading paperback crime novels, surfing Fetlife to fantasize about having someone I could give a shit about. Maybe going to a play party now and then, only to end up watching other people performing scenes that didn't speak to me. The sound of moans and slapping leather ringing off the walls leaving me nothing but empty and unmoved. Bored, even. I’d been eating dinner for one at a table set for two and the _waste_ of it had become like a weight.

I'm not sure if he realized how much my time alone with him really did for me, and I was resolving to tell him. Because he needed to know, and he'd been so, so impressively forthright with me, in just the way I'd asked him to.

That time spent with him, tending to him and doing _the work_ \--it carried me. Even when we were apart, I could feel him with me all throughout the day, my whole body suffused with the warmth of his trust, his progress. The knowledge of his safety. Whenever I wanted it, and I _always_ wanted it, I had the image of him safe in my home--bare feet tucked up beneath flannel-clad legs, rumpled hair and slow, sleepy smiles--flourishing under my attentions. Coming to believe he was _worth_ the attention, the time. Nothing futile here, nothing wasted.

After the heart-wrenching scene in my dining room that night, Credence slept in my bed for the first time, confessions of love and our new found commitment to each other wrapped around us as close as the blankets. I held him through the night as though I could _will_ the fear from him, and if only it were that easy.

The next day, I set up an appointment for him with Doctor Piquery, someone I knew quite well and whose capability I trusted. Because I hadn't been speaking lightly there--I knew some of the struggle Credence was going through with a thing like OCD, knew it inside and out all too well.

For a few weeks after that, we took things easy. Slow and steady. He went to his sessions and he went to class and we spent our free time together--Credence more often than not cleaving himself to me, bolstering himself with the simple fact of my presence. He was tender, undergoing treatment that can feel counter-intuitive in the beginning. Just taking that initial step of addressing a problem in the first place is a damn difficult thing, and Credence, in his customary fashion, was applying himself to it fully.

During his first session it had come about that he did, indeed, have unchecked OCD, and over time it had entangled itself with disordered eating. The night I learned this--watching each halting sentence appear on the screen of my phone like the details of a slow-moving car wreck laid out in words--I cried like I haven't in… God, _years._ My mind hung over and over on that one image: his pale hand poised over a can of soup like it might kill him. Afraid to feed himself, afraid to fucking _eat_ and I screamed my helpless rage into the pillow still smelling of his hair, fists twisting in the fabric thinking _let it be her throat put her throat into my hands just once christ just ONCE_

Credence had barely ever spoken of his mother with me, but he didn't have to. She was there: in his hesitation, his self-recrimination, in the skin of his _sinful_ body. And I was going to exorcise her demon spirit and all its shadows from him, exorcise it with patience and skill and blazing, searing _love._

As always, I left the matter of our previous discussion around D/s in his hands until he was ready to approach the topic again. In large part, my concern was that I didn't want him thinking he was somehow now obligated to engage in something like that simply because I was helping him to access therapy. That took a few conversations--explaining that I was doing it as a concerned party and, if he'd rather see it this way--as his _boyfriend_ , a word that had him biting his lip and blushing over its sweet simplicity.

“What, do you _like_ me or something?” he'd joked, doing his best to take some of the intensity out of an idea that was visibly giving him butterflies. “I'm _telling."_

He needed time to get a sense of what he wanted to do next, and I had no doubt he'd come back around to it when it felt right. He hadn't been lying when he'd told me it was something he'd felt about himself for a long, long time, and the potential to explore it safely and cautiously with me would likely be too appealing for him to leave aside for long.

But Credence struck me as the type to possibly take on a little too much all at once, hoping to justifying his presence and the time people spent on him through perfect performance. And I could only imagine the expectations previously placed on him… the constant encouragement to overextend himself or else prove himself some sort of burden.

Any kind of D/s we entered into would need to avoid leaning on that quality in him and I was keeping the faith that Credence would be open to seeing that. A desire to obey, to attend to instruction with impeccable detail might be a desirable thing in a prospective submissive, under different circumstances. In someone like Credence, to build on that foundation would be lazy and downright abusive.

More than anything, I wanted to teach Credence how to say _no._ And, if he didn't often say it to _me,_ it would only be because he truly didn't feel compelled to.

And so, several weeks after our first discussion, Credence informed me one evening that he'd been continuing his research and taking everything into careful consideration. The end result of this being that he felt ready to proceed, and the letter I'd requested of him would be waiting in my inbox.

I asked him if he'd rather I read it in his presence or wait until I was alone. He admitted that at first he'd been tempted to leave it for me to read after he'd gone home, but in the end decided he'd rather be there, for us to discuss it once I was finished.

I opened up the lengthy message on my phone and read it through with a pounding heart--Credence curled up next to me, stealing little glances at my face every now and then to gauge my reaction.

 

_Graves_

_I want to start this letter by telling you first how grateful I am. Not only because of the opportunity you're willing to give me here, but because of the patience and care you've treated me with since the moment we met._

Here I reached to stroke his hair and place a kiss on the top of his head, already prepared to be immensely moved by whatever else he had to say and almost nervous of the emotional display it might arouse in me.

_Graves, I know you see me through and through in ways I might never really comprehend. But I want you to know that I see you, too. I see the way you do everything you can to make people safe, with me and in your job and everywhere else. I think you need to know that you're not just a guard, or a shield… you're a very gentle man with the soul of a poet and sometimes I think you take care of everyone so much because it makes you feel worthy. And you need to know that you really are worthy of love and respect and trust, not just because of the things you do but because of who you simply are, even when you're not doing anything for anyone but yourself._

I'd been right to be nervous. I had a panicky moment--that same thing I'd seen in Credence when we met, of feeling the tears sting in the back of my eyes and knowing I was going to lose that battle already. I pressed my thumb and forefinger hard against my eyelids, almost as if I could hold the tears in by force and I heard Credence make a soft sound next to me, his hand a comforting weight over my forearm.

I let out a long, shaky breath. “ _Oh, baby..."_ I said. “I'm gonna keep reading, okay? I've barely started here."

“Are you okay?" he asked and his worried eyes almost did me in right there. “Are you going to be okay?"

“Oh yeah, baby, I'm gonna be just fine. It's… it's a good thing, don't be alarmed.”

_Because I know that you've been lonely, just as I've been lonely, too. And I love that you've been taking care of yourself anyway, even if you thought you were doing it so you could be good for someone one day.  
Because I haven't just been lonely, I've been lonely for YOU. There's really no one else who could've seen me the way that you do, who could be as right for me as you are. You were trying to be good for someone and you're good for ME. You're the best thing for me and that's why I want this and why I know I'm ready for it._

Deep breaths. Credence's hand stroking my arm, his head on my shoulder. _Oh, my sweet boy._

_You asked me how I want to feel. What I want (and it's still amazing to me that I can say this, say what I want to you) is to feel **safe**. _

_This one is easy because you already do this for me all the time. But there are things…. I have scars. I mean physical ones, that I've never shown you. Because I haven't always been safe. I know you know this, but my time lately with Doctor Piquery (thank you for her!) has been making me see more and more how bad things really were and how much safety means to me now._

Here I took Credence's stroking hand in my own, gripped it, brought it to my lips and held it there. Closed my eyes a moment.

_You asked me what I want from a Dom. My sessions with Doctor Piquery have been very illuminating for me on this, as well as my own research into D/s. And I know that what I DON'T need is to be broken in, to be humbled or to become a slave. I've done these things and there's no work needed there, nothing for a Dom to do.  
What I need from a Dom is the opposite of what I've had so far. _

_I need to be safe, I need demonstrations of this daily._  
_I need to be cared for and nurtured._  
_I need structure and support and help to be successful in my treatment._  
_I need my time alone with you in your home to be like a sanctuary from everything else._  
_I need and want very badly to feel okay in my own body, to feel the safety and the care there. This one is big and it scares me a lot. I might not ever really be all the way comfortable with other people's touch, but I want and desire your touch very badly. Sometimes I worry you don't know this. It will take me time and patience to get there, but the thought of being physical with you is very exciting to me (blush emoji!) and I think that's a very good sign._

_I've looked into lots of different ways a D/s dynamic can take shape. And I know the name now for what kind of Dom would be most suitable for the type of sub that I know I am._

_I've had a mother and that wasn't so good. I've had her idea of a Father and that was just as bad._

_What I've never had before and what I need now is a Daddy. I think I knew that's who you were from the moment you dried my tears and helped me up._

_This has been a very long letter and I hope I've made sense and told you the things you need to hear. I know you've said that you need input from me in order to be more effective and even though it's hard to say these things (thank you for letting me write it and not have to say it all) I am very excited about all of this. I'm going to end this letter now so that you can stop reading and we can talk about it in person._

_Thank you,_

_Credence_

I set my phone down and pulled him to me. Breathed his scent, fruity shampoo and blanket warmth and soft, sweet _boy_. He was perfect, he was all I've ever dreamed of, he was going to break my fucking heart and curl himself inside me in its place. I cried into his black curls and heard him sniffling somewhere down there against my chest. When I gripped him in my embrace I felt like I could press him soft and malleable right into me, carry him with me in the cage of my ribs all day, never apart.

After a long moment, I lifted my head and wiped my eyes one-handed. He came up with me, pressed his tear-flushed cheek to mine, kissed my temple.

“Will you say it to me?" I asked. “Will you call me what you said in the letter?”

He sighed against my face, pressed his nose against the rough stubble there like a nuzzling kitten. _“Daddy,"_ he breathed. _“My_ Daddy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dragged my arm out from underneath the tangle of covers and reached to smooth a stray curl behind his ear. His hair was getting so long; a month and a half since I'd found him and already it felt like he'd always been with me. I couldn't imagine a time without him--that strange, grey space of _before_ \--and I didn't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy times as Credence slowly gets more comfortable with himself.

I woke late on a Saturday morning to find Credence already up and preoccupied with sleepily regarding me. 

A narrow band of sunlight shone through the gap between the drapes, falling across his face and lighting his eyes a rich amber under the glow. When he saw that I was finally rousing, he bit his lip and smiled as though I'd just presented him with a surprise gift. 

“Good morning," I murmured, face still pressed half into the pillow and my voice gone scratchy with disuse. I dragged my arm out from underneath the tangle of covers and reached to smooth a stray curl behind his ear. His hair was getting so long; a month and a half since I'd found him and already it felt like he'd always been with me. I couldn't imagine a time without him--that strange, grey space of _before_ \--and I didn't want to. 

With a pleased little hum, he tilted his face to better receive the caress. “Good morning, Daddy.” 

I wasn't ever going to get enough of hearing him say that word. 

After another few seconds of what I'll tentatively call wistful staring, Credence leaned up on his arm to bring his face over mine and deliver his usual good morning kiss. What _wasn't_ so usual about it was the way his tongue slid briefly over my lower lip--just a quick taste and yet somehow distinctly _coaxing_. I knew then he'd been _admiring_ me for possibly some time, waiting patiently. 

Credence and I had been sharing my bed quite frequently for several weeks, and while there'd been plenty of kisses (and a few repeat performances of my memorable private show on the couch), we'd both been careful to take things at a safe and comfortable pace. I was in heaven with it: the two of us caught up in each other with all the hormone-driven, slowly advancing mutual horniness of a pair of teenagers. Come to think of it, it must've been at least as long as my teens since I'd cum in my pants as many times as I'd already done with Credence moaning in my lap. I was almost sad to think of the day when I'd be all the way inside him, with that grinding, fully-clothed anticipation between us turned something of the past. 

He'd presented his letter and had me stunned, only to continue in that vein with his carefully researched and very wisely thought-out ideas. 

Together we'd decided that while he was home with me, he would promptly change out of his street clothes and into a set of soft pajamas--to best mark the transition from outside world to inner sanctum of childlike safety. Frankly, I couldn't get enough of him that way, malleable and tender in the loose flannel, letting himself be tended to and doting on Daddy in return. I'd never seen him outside of them, and the air of mystery around that fact had me wound up like a spring more often than not, in the most delicious way. Just knowing one day I'd unwrap him fully, the never-ending _gift_ of Credence… well, that had become a favourite fantasy for those mornings when I found myself alone. 

Not like this morning. On this particular Saturday I was very much _not_ alone, and I could feel Credence fixing to surprise me in some unprecedented way yet again. 

I watched him pull back from the kiss and looked up into his face to find the familiar glimmer in his eyes that I was learning signified _interest_. 

“Credence?" I leaned back on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Is there something you'd like?" 

He blushed--a habit I secretly and very fervently hoped he never grew out of--and at the same time, he let his eyes linger over me, trailing down the length of my body under the blankets. He'd _definitely_ been up for a while, then, to have built up this kind of boldness of appetite. 

“I'd like to kiss you, Daddy," he answered in a hushed voice. 

I smirked at that, happy enough to oblige him in something so simple and still a little confused. He'd said it as though he'd never asked for it before, as if he hadn't just given me a kiss only seconds ago. 

“Of course you can have a kiss, baby. You just had one, but you can have as many as you like.” 

He tilted his head. Chewed his lip, blush darkening, spreading down his neck. _Interesting_. 

“I want to kiss you…. here,” his voice was still so hushed and he placed the tip of his finger over my breast bone, where I realized then that several buttons of my own pajama top had worked themselves open during the night to reveal. Beneath it, my heart started eagerly tripping and my cock gave a twitch, already hard right since waking. The thought of his soft, plush lips pressing gently against my chest was almost too much to bear so early in the morning. 

“Of...of course you can, baby.” The rasp in my voice couldn't all be feasibly blamed on the hour anymore. “If you want to. I think that would be nice.” 

His eyes were lit up, delighted--no doubts hiding there. Since that letter, Credence was growing more and more assured in his own wants and how to speak them. No longer simply feeding from my hand but coming close to nuzzle now and then; less cautiously hungry wild thing and more willing pet. He nodded and smiled, lower lip growing red and tenderized from his teeth's constant attentions. 

Then, still smiling, he crouched forward to bring his mouth over the spot he'd indicated: the sun-warmed patch of bare skin at the centre of my chest. I held my breath, only to let it go on a pleasured sigh as his lips pressed soft as petals at the juncture of my half-open shirt. It was almost incomprehensible, how good it felt. Just a light kiss in a place he'd never touched before--but nothing was ever _just_ with Credence. It was always something to marvel at, to unfold and admire again and again in private like a precious keepsake. 

He lifted his head back up and looked to my face, then let his eyes roam over my bare collar bone and I could see him openly _coveting_ the spot. Already long gone was the time when his gaze flicked over me like a thief's, when he trembled to ask for even a single kiss. 

“Can I do it again?" he asked. 

_"Yes,”_ I answered, a little quicker than was truly dignified. 

“How about this? You just keep going and if there's anything I don't want, I'll say the word, okay?” 

“Okay." He smiled again and licked his lips, wasting no time seeking out the spot he'd chosen and delivering another kiss, this one held a little longer, the press a little more firm. As soon as he'd lifted his mouth away, he was back at it, peppering soft little kisses along my clavicle until I let out a faint groan. I could feel every brush of his lips against my skin in perfect hyper-focus and it was exquisite. 

Again he raised his head and caught my eye at the sound, something heady and sensual in his gaze. I could almost say he was enjoying it just as much as I was--in fact, I was growing fairly certain of it. I was also growing almost painfully aroused. 

“Is it good, Daddy?" he asked softly, the words skimming over my kiss-dampened skin. “Does it feel nice?" 

I passed a hand over my face, licked my lips, glanced down at the growing patch of wetness near the waistband of my flannel pants. 

“Yes, baby, it feels so nice” I rasped. "You're making Daddy feel so good.” 

He grinned--my favourite sight--and gently fingered at the button still done up halfway down my chest. “Can I open this?" he asked. 

"Baby, you go right ahead. _Please."_

I was panting as I watched him fumble at the last of the buttons and part the shirt to either side. When he pressed an open-mouthed kiss against my stomach I groaned, this time my hand making a quick abortive move towards my cock nearly of its own accord. I saw him turn his head and look, so attentive and present to the moment, always. 

“Do you… do you want to touch?” he asked me then, and I could feel each word as a warm breath stirring the hair along my stomach and chest, every sweet syllable spelled out as _pleasure._ “Like we do sometimes," he added, “...when you _show_ me?” 

"Oh, my sweet boy, yes… I'd like that so much, thank you.” 

He pushed the last of the blankets aside, fully revealing the obvious tent at my groin and then watched with avid focus as I pulled myself free of the pajama pants. I took myself in hand, shivering through a first few slow strokes, seeing his eyes darken as he took it all in. 

“Do you like this, baby?" I asked him, noticing his red lips parting, his breath beginning to quicken along with mine. I always asked this and somehow the question always brought him nearly frantic with arousal, as though the freedom of answering me out loud verged on unbearably good. “Do you like seeing me, watching me like this?" 

_“Yes,”_ he breathed out, brows drawing together in that plaintive almost begging way they did when he was turned on to the point of being _moved._

“I love it so much." His voice echoed the sentiment of his expression, the nearly painful _wanting_ there. The longing to convey his feeling, knowing he can't ever fully, not with words. “I love watching you, Daddy, I…. I love knowing you feel good, that I'm making you feel good.” 

“You _do_ , you make me feel so good, so fucking good. _Fuuuck_... you can kiss me, Credence, you can do anything that feels good….” 

My voice was strained already, sounding the same as him. How did we do this to each other every time? Pulling one another like moon and tide with nothing but a few morning kisses. 

His hands fluttered over me for a moment, as though spoiled for choice and unsure where to land first and then he simply leaned forward to place another wet kiss high up on my stomach. 

The sensation of his mouth there, against such tender skin and so, so agonizingly close to where my hand was picking up its pace… he had me nearly ready to cum. I used to have staying power, I could've sworn on it, but with him--I've jerked off about a million times in my life, but this was better than fucking. I was doing it for _him_ : because he wanted to see, because he'd been denied it and made to fear it and wanted so much to reclaim it. And he'd chosen me to be the one to help him do such a noble and revolutionary thing. I wasn't just touching myself, I was making an open declaration of his entire sexuality, _our_ sexuality. 

He moved his mouth higher, trailing warm panting breath along its path and when I felt where he was heading I let out an honest-to-god little whimper knowing he was about to take me right over the edge. 

I shouted when he closed his lips over my right nipple, arching up against his mouth, his flicking tongue. In the firmness of my grip, my cock pulsed hard: convulsive throbs like the swallowing of a throat against my palm. I was heaving underneath him, moaning loud as heavy ropes of cum pattered down across my trembling stomach--seven of them, streaking over the places his kiss had only just wetly marked. 

Beneath the sound of my gasps, Credence groaned and when I turned to stroke a hand through his hair I saw that he was grinding, humping eager shuffling thrusts against the press of the mattress. There was nothing tentative to it, nothing hesitant… he was in the feeling and didn't care what sort of display he might be making. The panting, _hhmmphing_ little noises coming out of him were nearly enough to have me hard all over again, just watching him drive towards his own release like this. 

_“Daddy,”_ he whined, those tortured eyebrows folding in again. 

“What is it, baby, what do you need?" 

“I've never… I've never done what you did,” he stuttered out, "not with my hands… not right _on."_

The erotic power of all my previous displays doubled down then, hearing that. I groaned softly, to think of him at his age, never having touched himself that way. To think of how intense it honestly must've been for him, to ask me to do it, to see me do it truly _for_ him. 

“Is that what you want, to do that now?” I asked him, hushed and amazed. “You want to use your hand like I did?” 

_“No-ooo,"_ he moaned out, "I want _you…_ Daddy, please I want you to do it, I want your hand.” 

I raised up on one arm, spent cock trying hard to rouse again with keen interest. “Baby, are you sure?" 

_“Please,_ please I've been thinking about it for _days._ I promise I'll say if I need it to stop, I promise, I just _want_ you. 

He'd stopped his thrusting motion to sit up straight before me on the bed, legs tucked beneath him and his cock curving up at painful attention inside his pajamas. His love-swollen lips were dark against his pale skin, cheeks flushed, black hair all soft and sleep-rumpled… I'd never seen anything more gorgeous, anything sexier in all my life. 

I sat up slowly, almost not believing what I'd just been told if the certainty--the open _need_ wasn't right there on his face. 

“Come here, baby," I said, “get in Daddy's lap" 

Credence let out a whimper and scrambled to obey, settling himself into the cradle of my crossed legs and wrapping his own around my hips. I slid my fingers into the back of his hair, licking into his mouth with a slow burning hunger, relishing his groan--its deepness, its sheer aching _weight. Take this from me,_ it said. I was going to savour every tiny second of this, this pure and perfect thing he was giving to me. 

His hips were softly rocking again, not demanding but rather sweetly _anticipating_ my touch. I slid my hand down the front of his body against his clothes, starting at his throat and telegraphing its steady progress, giving him any chance he might need to change his mind. When I reached the waistband of his pants, I hooked one finger in, sliding it along between the fabric and his skin, giving it a gentle tug. 

“Do you want this, my boy?" I whispered against his hair and he sobbed into my shoulder, his breath hot and coming fast again. 

_“Yes yes please..."_

I looked down as I pushed my hand all the way into his PJs, brushing my knuckles along the soft trail of hair at his abdomen, seeing his perfect cock for the first time. And it _was_ perfect--impressive in its size and girth, the kind of cock to kneel down and _present_ to. I wanted to weep, thinking this boy was _mine,_ that he would share this with me. 

The _sound_ he made when I closed my fist around him…. 

I tried to draw it out for him, tried to make it slow and sweet, but even with all his self control--his practiced self _denial,_ there was no chance this was going to last beyond a handful of strokes. 

Credence wrapped his arms around my shoulders and gripped me hard, moaning and sobbing soft little wounded sounds with his head thrown back--opening himself completely to my touch. I sucked lightly at the soft skin of his neck, scraping my teeth there and feeling the responding twitch in his cock against my palm. A firm slide up the shaft to tease around the dripping head, a lick at the base of his throat and he was babbling, riding in my lap as he rocked himself into my fist with complete _abandon._

_“Oh god, oh god…. Daddy yes you're touching me yes yes oh you're fu…. you're_ fucking _me you're fucking me….”_

If I have to choose one moment I can relive one last time on my deathbed, this is the one. Credence thrusting hard and cum-slick against my stroking palm--swearing filth and making love to my hand all at once. Credence getting just as good as he'd given. Credence, face tight in a silent scream spilling hot over the fingers I'd just had around myself while he made me quake with it. 

Credence in my arms without a trace of fear. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He became all focus, eyes on my face and that worry doubling down. No doubt hearing the missing pieces in how simply I'd phrased things, the larger story behind the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reality comes knocking in the form of Other People outside of the pair's honeymoon cocoon. This chapter is mostly a much needed series of conversations between Credence and Graves.
> 
> I'm touching on some important practices and lessons here in this one, lessons that I definitely learned the hard way irl.

**Princess_Peach** 23F Princess

Omg, Graves! You have a BOY??!!! Since. When. Omg this is HUGE I'm freaking out! When are you bringing him out? Who is he? I need to meet this boy IMMEDIATELY.

**SalamanderEyes** 25F Domme

Graves, please respond to Queenie's message or text her or something because I honestly can't deal with her squealing about this mystery boy anymore. Please. For my eardrums. I need this to stop.

Btw…. I see this is the same boy who was asking around about you a few weeks ago. I gotta say, he was very thorough. Smart cookie, I'm impressed :)

**b4k3rzd0z3n** 26M Daddy

Graves, how the hell are ya! You've sure got Queenie all in a tizzy over here about this new development, wowee. Give us a shout and let us meet this mystery fella, okay?

**SufferTwice** 29M submissive

Congratulations! No one deserves it more than you do, let's be honest here. Everyone's terribly excited and I'll admit I'm a tad curious myself, but no hurry! Whenever you're both ready will be good enough for the lot of us. We'll manage in the meantime.

 

~~~

 

I couldn't keep Credence all to myself forever, and as tempted as I might've been, it wouldn't be right if I tried.

As much as D/s is about a committed partnership, more than anything BDSM is about _community._ And I had a good sense that was something else Credence's life had been sorely lacking up until I found him. He'd had the church, of course, and there was community there to some extent at least, but it was his mother's community and not one he was free to be himself in, on multiple counts. And that's just the thing: we need other people, but we also need them to be the right ones.

The people in my life might drive me insane, blowing up my phone if I so much as breathe anything that looks like _news_ , but they were the right people. They were right for me and I knew they would be right for Credence, too. Because he needed friends, especially friends in the same lifestyle--people who could understand what his feelings were and what his particular challenges might be.

And, he needed to see that I had friends, as well. That I'm not living in a vacuum, that sometimes I need support and people who won't put up with my shit, and especially: that I'm not some solitary brooding Dom out of a romance book. I didn't invent this way of life, I didn't learn how to do these things on my own, and there are people who can vouch for my reputation or inform someone of where I might be lacking.

After the letter, he and I talked at length about what came next. And a good part of that involved my insistence that he put me through a sort of vetting process, something that at first he balked at.

“But I already _know_ you, I trust you," he said, worried brows tilting steadily up and a hand on my arm, frantic at the suggestion he might ever somehow _doubt_ me. Credence had not been raised to question, to doubt, especially not in service to himself in some way. And I knew that where he normally wouldn't object or disagree at all, here the fear that I might have imagined him all along as some Doubting Thomas overrode everything else.

I pulled him to me then, kissing his face and brushing away the tears clinging along his lash line with my thumbs. “Credence, I know this and I've never once thought you were skeptical or, hell, even particularly _cautious_ about me. And that's the thing. This is a standard procedure, it's the _way things are done_ , and there's very good reason for it. Your safety is paramount, even when dealing with me. There's a lot of bad people out there and this is just… a good habit to get into.”

Pleading eyes met mine, still wetly gleaming and threatening to spill, but after a moment he nodded and tucked his head against my shoulder. “You just want me to be safe," he whispered, making me close my eyes and sigh my gratitude, cheek pressed to that safe haven of soft curls at the crown of his head. He always listened, he always came through for me. “You want me to know how to not get… tricked.”

_"Oh, my clever boy. My good boy._ Thank you for understanding that."

And so we’d agreed that he would choose for himself a handful of people who knew me on a regular basis, to ask about me without my alerting them ahead of time.

Apparently Tina had been at least one of those, and the thought that he'd made an impression on such a stickler for protocol filled me with a warmth of pride I felt like a slow spreading opiate all the way down my spine. I realized then in a way I'd never thought of before, how much an experience of physical satisfaction it was, nearly drug-like in its pleasure, to see him do well. It may have seemed an unromantic task--essentially running a background check on a potential lover--but I was confident of my own conduct and happy to make an outright display of just how little I had to hide from him. Back again to that foundation of transparency and trust. _Blind_ faith has never been something I've wanted or sought to reward. But informed consent? Absolutely.

Credence came to me several days after this conversation visibly lighter in heart. We were laying together in my bed, enjoying the last quiet dwindling hour before sleep, just kissing softly and sharing our thoughts when he gave me a shy smile full of fondness. A particular contemplative look that usually came ahead of something he'd been waiting to say, something he knew I'd be happy to hear. The smile melted into a lip bite, as it often did in these moments and I felt a grin taking shape on my own face in response.

“What?" I asked, looking to cajole it out of him even though I knew he was on the brink of telling without any help. “What's going on in those thoughts, hmm?"

"I talked to some people that know you,” he said, "like you asked me to.”

"Oh?” I hadn't expected the little tremor of nerves that passed through me then, the sense of vulnerability that sometimes comes with knowing you've been spoken of without being quite sure of what's been said.

Credence relinquished his lip from between his teeth to grin, eyes wide and warm--tracing their way over my features with a wondering look, seeking _what_ I didn't know. Maybe he'd only been matching my face to the things he'd heard, finding the evidence of each story in the lines around my eyes and the silver of my hair.

“They said such nice things about you..." he murmured quietly then, delicate fingertips trailing from my hairline down the curves of my face, sliding soft along my stubbled jaw. “They said you were a very good Dom, always safe and especially focused. They said you know your shit.” He blushed a little at that last before he paused, growing careful. “One person… one said you'd been on your own for, well… for a while. And I knew that, but I guess I was just still surprised to hear it.”

I watched his face shift with so many emotions as he spoke, moved to realize that foremost among them was _pride._ I suppose I'd forgotten--that he might take pride in _me_ now and then--that as he learned more about this lifestyle, meeting other Doms along the way, he might compare me favourably against them. I _wanted_ him to be proud, but more than that I wanted his pride to be genuinely founded. Not something based in loyalty alone, or naive sentiment. It was my hope that even if he'd found his way into this life on his own and been spoiled for choice--if he knew his shit, he would still have wanted me, would still have seen me as the best one for him. Because I wanted him to have the best, as he deserved.

Beyond his pride, I caught a flicker of something else--a touch of worry, maybe, that it might hurt me to speak of my long-standing single status and at the same time clearly wanting to understand it. Seeing that, I knew without having to ask what sort of things he might've been told.

“It's been difficult," I said, “trying to find the right one. And the one that I'm right for.”

Credence lowered his eyes then, gaze drifting vacantly over the bedsheets as I watched him struggle to broach the topic that now loomed in both our minds.

“Credence," I finally ventured softly. “You can ask about anything you want to, I was the one who told you to look into it in the first place, okay?”

When he looked back up to me, his eyes had taken on a sadness somewhere along the trail of his ruminations, as if he'd seen something troubling right there in the folds of the duvet over our tangled legs.

“They said that you'd had a sort of… disappointment, before. A submissive that you had to let go and it really... it was hard for you. They said it changed you, sort of.”

A _disappointment._ A delicate choice of words and one I was grateful for, as inadequate as it was. I let out a heavy breath, feeling almost superstitious against bringing that particular spectre to hover even for a moment over our shared bliss, still knowing it was inevitable. I'd wanted him to hear this, and he had the right to it.

“I had a slave, for a while, someone I agreed to take care of and train--the idea being that eventually I would find them a permanent owner. This was, of course, a long time ago now.”

He became all focus, eyes on my face and that worry doubling down. No doubt hearing the missing pieces in how simply I'd phrased things, the larger story behind the words.

“And what happened?" he asked. “Did you find them someone?”

I shook my head then and let my own gaze wander, reluctant over the necessary opening of past wounds. “No. No I didn't. They were… a very troubled person, in a very bad situation when I found them. I took responsibility for their circumstances thinking I could help and I moved them out of that place, tried to set them up with a new life. And in the process I inevitably grew attached.”

Credence had curled himself further into me as I spoke, one hand held lightly over my heart as if he could draw the melancholy straight out of it himself. And in that moment, I was sure he could, certain his presence was already healing a pantheon of old hurts. How could any clumsy romantic failure of the past hold power with his warm breath skimming over my throat, with his hand riding the rise and fall of my chest?

“And _they_ didn't?" He cautiously whispered into the collar of my shirt. “Get attached, I mean."

“No, they didn't. We had an agreement, a plan for the whole thing and when it came time for them to come through with their side of things… applying for part-time employment, preparing for school, that sort of stuff… they found themselves unwilling. I was still fairly new to the lifestyle back then and it meant a terribly great deal to me at the time. For a while things evolved between us into something more like a romantic situation and I suppose I'd hoped that might make some kind of difference. What they wanted was a much harsher master--someone to fear. Maybe they were digging their heels in to try and goad that sort of hardness out of me, I don't know anymore. But in the end, they were looking for a free ride, as they say. I'm not sure they ever had any real intention of building something substantial with me, or with anyone else. I grew frustrated and depleted, both emotionally and financially, I'm afraid, and so I left them with enough to make ends meet and turn things around for themselves on their own or find another Dom, one they actually wanted.”

I felt Credence stiffen at that, furtively holding out hope it wasn't the first move towards recoiling. Hearing how it sounded out loud, I couldn't look at him then. I could only pray he wouldn't see me as some sort of serial _abandoner._ He was so, so remarkably different from that early slave; everything between us was beautifully in balance where it had always been strife with the other, and I didn't want him thinking the same thing could happen here.

“I think,” I went on, voice thick and maybe even a little scared now, “more than anything, I was blinded by the idea that I could save this person somehow. And I was blinded by how good it felt to really be myself with someone, to be their Dom even for a while and do some good work there. That can be a powerful thing. Intoxicating, really, and I suppose it made me careless. I still feel… regret over the way things happened back then. Just another reason why vetting someone thoroughly is so important.”

Credence's head had slowly lifted from my shoulder as I spoke, his eyes on my face, listening avidly with every part of himself. When I finished and finally turned to meet his gaze again, something greeted me there I'd never seen in him before--anger, stark and disbelieving on his face.

“They did that to you?" he asked me, and there was no softness in his tone. Seeing that, it occurred to me for the first time that Credence roused to anger was a beautiful and terrible thing to behold. Once the understanding sank in--that his anger wasn't meant for me but was felt on my behalf instead--I could have swooned under the astonished relief that came with it. To have his anger summoned at my defense, over a matter that normally inspired only the weary shaking of heads… his pride had warmed me but _this_ had me weak, soft at the centre with a love that _ached_. I'd never thought of it, that my _little fighter_ might fight for me, too, but I didn't doubt it then and I never would. There were no doubts, not for either of us, it seemed. Only the open-hearted _realness_ of a perfect match.

“That's disgusting," he spat, in a scathing voice entirely new to me. “That person _used_ you… that's… they _can't._ They can't _do_ that.”

I reached for him then, pulling him back down to kiss away the angry, passionate twist to his mouth. The need had seized me to devour that vivid emotion, that thing he felt _for me,_ to reward him with pleasure and eager affection. My perfect, gorgeous boy.

Soon enough, anger had burned its way to a new sort of fire, stoked to blazing with the fuel of my deep and languid kisses, my stroking tongue. Rising high until he moaned and shook with it, licking his way into my mouth like he needed it just to _live._

“Baby," I finally said, panting out the words between us. “It was a long time ago, like I said. I got burned and it made me cautious, kept me alone some of the time. Because unfortunately, quite a few out there are wanting a Daddy just like you, only in their case it's a Daddy of the sugar variety they're hoping to find. I think…. I think that I even became wary of anyone looking for a _Dom_ ahead of all other qualities. I wanted someone who was looking for _me_ first. Do you understand how I mean?”

"Yes,” he answered back and smiled that coy, pleased look I love so much. That prelude to _good things._ Leaning up on his arms, he nuzzled at my face with his nose like a pony, chasing after my kiss--eyes dazed and dreamy with simmering arousal. “I do understand what you mean because I _was_ looking for _you._ I didn't even know about Doms, really. So that means you were looking for _me,_ too.”

I took his face in my hands and traced its sculpted angles under my fingertips before giving him the kiss he'd been seeking after like it was his only air.

“I was. I was looking exactly for you, my sweet boy.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't long before my curiosity got the better of me, though, and soon enough just watching the shifting reactions on his wondering face wasn't enough for me. I wanted to know his thoughts on what he was seeing: what kind of ideas and feelings might be rousing in him, what things he noticed that I hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more progress between our pair and also some emotional smut. 
> 
> "Wrapping" is a term used for when a flogging or whipping is done with poor control and the implement curls around into areas it's not supposed to.

“You know, um… Queenie said that there's a kink group here that get together and do cognitive behavioral therapy. Like, mostly subs, I think.” 

"Really? Are you thinking you might like to go? Maybe you could tell them a bit about ACT.” 

“That's what I was thinking, too! But I don't know, because… it might conflict with CBT. I'm gonna ask Dr. Piquery.” 

 

~~~

 

I'll admit it, I'm a shameless “movie talker,” and I'd gotten Credence into the habit as well. 

For the first while spending time together, he was quiet as a mouse anytime we settled in to cuddle and watch something after a long day, but then again, he was quiet in every respect at the start. Of course, half the time whatever show or movie we'd picked would end up taking a back seat to losing ourselves in each other instead--stretched out on the couch with the TV's murmur competing against the sound of our mingled sighs. 

It wasn't long before my curiosity got the better of me, though, and soon enough just watching the shifting reactions on his wondering face wasn't enough for me. I wanted to know his thoughts on what he was seeing: what kind of ideas and feelings might be rousing in him, what things he noticed that I hadn't.

Every little hidden detail of his inner world fascinated and possessed me, each shared observation like a pearl to be hoarded away and treasured. I found myself wanting to show him specific films just to see them again through his eyes and hear his take. Blade Runner had held him riveted, and moved him to quiet tears in the end over the injustice of the replicant's short and brutal lives--something that touched me deeply to see--knowing how sensitive, how kind his heart is. 

Credence was seized by emotion so deeply over even the smallest things, and beautifully expressive of it when given the freedom to be. It was all I wanted, my greatest pleasure in life to guide him into his experience and hold him safe and loved while he gave himself over to it completely, whatever it was. It didn't matter in the end if it was a movie or an orgasm, I wanted him free to fly knowing I'd always catch him and never let him float away too far. Credence had been made to suppress and contain so much of himself in life; I understood that his feelings when they reared up could often threaten to overwhelm him, leaving him feeling untethered and even frightened by their intensity. Which was just another reason why it was so important to ease into each new thing carefully, watching him for any sign it had become too much. 

This particular night's film was Splash, Credence's own quirky pick and one I was slightly tickled by, especially when he confessed it was a favourite he'd already seen many times. 

“How are things with that this week?" I asked him softly, watching as a world-weary Tom Hanks bemoaned his fate on screen while John Candy's infectious smirk left me grinning. “With Piquery, I mean. Is that okay if I ask?" 

He shifted his head on my chest and looked up into my face with a soft little smile that gently pulled something loose in me. He looked… genuinely happy, lighter. 

“Yeah, things are actually going really good and I've just been… like, absorbing it, kind of.” 

“Oh? That's…. I'm really glad to hear it's helping.” I was more than just _glad_ , but I didn't want to leave him feeling like this was some kind of performance he had to get _just right_ for me. It was _his_ process to go through, after all. 

Raising up a little further, Credence twisted to face me, apparently quite eager now that we'd gotten onto the topic. 

“Can I tell you a bit about it?" he asked. 

"Of course. I'd like to hear it if you feel like sharing.” 

“Well, part of my um, my OCD pattern is to sometimes like… get really bad feelings like I'm guilty about something I did or thought about in the past?” 

His eyes grew a touch wider, watching my face with a look of naked vulnerability that made me pull him in a little closer. He was apprehensive of my reaction, whether or not I'd want to ask all about his laundry list of sins. 

“I know that particular pattern quite well as it happens,” I said. 

His relief was palpable, plain in the dip of his spine. “Yeah! Like I'd get the urge to confess whatever it was and try to feel better about it, but that would never last for long. And…” his face fell, a dark and faraway cast beginning to colour his eyes, “well, you can imagine how that went over with ma. If I was ever stupid enough to try telling _her_ what I thought I'd done wrong.” 

“You're not stupid, Credence,” I told him, "and you never were. OCD is a frightening disorder and she was a frightening woman, I'll come right out and say it. And that's an awful catch-twenty-two you were finding yourself in with all that and I'm sorry any of it ever happened to you.” 

The look he gave me was lingering and fond, an expression that would take hold of him almost every time I said something kind, as though he were seeing me for the first time and couldn't quite believe it. After a moment, he smiled again and pressed a kiss against the five o’clock shadow at my cheek. 

“Well, I talked about it with Dr. Piquery and she said that the compulsion to confess is just part of the pattern and giving into it just sort of reinforces the cycle. Like, if I were tempted to tell you all my little guilty thoughts…. and I have been… it would just keep going and going when what I really need is to know for myself that those things aren't anything I need to hold onto anymore.” 

I nodded, happy to hear this was the kind of thing the doctor was telling him. Certainly it was right in line with what had worked for me in the past, when I'd been seeking outside myself for some kind of absolution again and again with no satisfaction to be found in it. Sometimes only your own perspective is what counts when it comes to something as intimate as guilt, and perspective can be hard to find without professional help. 

“She's right," I said. 

Now Credence had cuddled in close to me again, for the moment content with the resolution of our small chat. 

“I had… a really wonderful moment of clarity about it,” he said softly after a minute or two, head pressed against my chest again. “Like, I really felt that she was right and that I knew it for myself, too. And when it's come up in my thoughts again it's been easier to do the exercises and dismiss the worry. I never really believed I'd be able to have that.” 

_I never believed I'd be able to have_ this, I thought, wrapping him tighter in my arms. “You _can_ have that, baby," I murmured over the movie, and he snuggled in as though he could curl himself up right inside me. 

 

~~~

 

A few scenes later, Credence sighed, something delicate and wistful in the sound, something like _longing._

“Darryl Hannah is so beautiful in this, don't you think?” he asked. "I always think so…." 

I tilted my head and smiled down at him curiously, admiring the angles of his face screen-lit and ghostly pale in the dark living room. “I didn't really consider you thinking about girls in that way before, to be honest,” I answered. 

He gazed back up at me, eyes luminous under the light of the TV and I was sure I could still see that telltale blush beginning to spread. 

“No, I don't really mean it like that…. I just… I guess I always kind of admired her in this. The way she looks and how she's sort of like, this magical person that just changes everything for him and then it turns out they were destined to be with each other. I don't know… maybe it's dumb. I like mermaids, though.” 

"It's not _dumb_ ," I answered, ushering him further up my chest to tilt his chin and deliver a gentle kiss to his lips. “ _You're_ like that, you know. You're that magical person in _my_ life. My beautiful mermaid.” 

Now his blush flushed hot against my fingers where they held to his cheek. I couldn't be sure, but his eyes in the light took on a greater sheen than they had before and he stretched along the length of my body to curl his arms around my shoulders. 

“ _Daddy_..." he murmured against my lips. "I love you so much.” 

 

~~~

 

We were watching Darryl Hannah take the Bloomingdale's by storm when Credence felt like sharing again. Hearing what he had to say, how the film made him _feel_ , I could see the thread of our previous conversations following along a certain direction, like beads knotted on a string. 

At first he was simply stealing little glances at my face, each one drawing out longer, becoming more searching and full of whatever unspoken thing he was working up to. The usual fidgeting that so often accompanied these moments had toned down--almost non-existent now--only his eyes on my face and then back to the screen, adding something up between the two. 

“I….” A lip bite, a quick flash of his eyes in the dark. 

I ran my hand soothingly over his back, smoothing down his spine over the pajama top patterned with little rubber ducks I'd picked out for him a couple days before. 

“Whatever it is, it's okay," I said. “We can talk about it." 

He took a breath and nodded. "What I said before, about admiring Darryl in this… I didn't mean it like I want to _be_ a girl,” he started, soft but urgent, just powering it out. 

“I didn't think that's what you meant by it, but it would've been okay with me if that _had_ been what you meant,” I answered. 

His brows raised a bit and he was looking at me steadily now, a touch braver for having begun. 

“Really?" he asked. “I just…. I've always felt bad about like, I don't know… _relating_ to girls a certain way.” 

He gave a shrug, one-shouldered, as if he could physically dismiss the last bit of self-consciousness halting his words. 

“I feel like the 'girl’ in a sexual way," he finally managed and he said it like ripping off a bandage, clean and straight through the sting. “Like, I want to be the one who has things…. _done_ to them, not the one who _does_ them. And I was always scared of that and I thought it was something really bad… to want that. For a boy.”

I sighed, licked my lips and leaned my head back against the couch. Nodded. Kept my hand stroking down his back. 

“That's a tough one for a lot of men like us, Credence. We're taught that we shouldn't feel those things about other boys and _especially_ we're taught that we shouldn't want _that_ with them.” 

His big eyes on my face were heart-wrenching to me, seeing him carry so much pain. And all on account of how the world had tried to tell him it was a shameful thing, his being _perfect_ for me in every single possible way. That's what he needed to know, that's what he needed to come away from this moment carrying with him. 

“Baby, it's an absolutely beautiful thing, you being the way you are. Wanting the things you want.” 

He sighed and closed his eyes a moment, hands splayed over my chest and just taking in what I'd said, making it his. 

“Credence, everything you are--every _single_ thing about you--even the stuff you don't like… makes you so perfect for me. I'd be, honestly, I'd be _screwed_ if there weren't any boys who want to be the 'girl’ sometimes. There's no shame in being a bottom, but there's a good deal of fun in it if I have any say.” 

At that, he opened his eyes and the dawning signs of that coy smile of his started percolating. 

“I want to be the girl more than _sometimes_ ,” he admitted softly. Then he chewed at his lip again, looking up to me through the dark fan of his lowered lashes before whispering, “I want that all the time. With you.” 

I should've expected it, but suddenly our little heart-to-heart was getting me hard. I knew he wasn't saying it was going to be _tonight_ , and it didn't matter when he really meant, even if it turned out to be never. It was the _idea_ of it alone, the fact that he wanted that inside, that it was a natural part of who he was and how he felt for me. I was supposed to be the Dom here, but Credence could get me worked up right to the brink with a _word_. 

When I spoke next, my voice had taken on that gravelly edge it always does, as if the sound in my throat was heading south along with everything else. As soon as the words were out I could see how it pleased him, to know that I didn't just understand what he was trying to tell me but rather enthusiastically approved. 

“Baby, you said that you wanted to be the one who has things done to them,” I said. “Believe me, I want to do all _kinds_ of things to you. Good things.” 

The look he gave was searing, all that feeling pent up and ready to spill over. And underneath it all: conflict, a constant painful tug-of-war with his own nature. 

It left me gutted to think how much fear and shame was tangled up with all that he wanted, couldn't _help_ but feel down to his core. How many times had he been directly punished for those things, I wondered--those _girl_ feelings. His very identity. What an evil and cruel thing it was to make someone try so desperately not to be _themself_. No wonder he wanted so much to trust me, to see himself through my eyes and believe it, too. 

Especially hurtful was the knowledge that each of those qualities, every single one, were all things I valued so highly. Things I’d been seeking out as desperately as he'd tried to hide them. Thank god he'd cried that day. He likely still thought of it as a weakness, but that honest moment had come through like a signal fire and I'd finally found him. 

With that yearning, tormented twist to his features, Credence took a deep breath and swallowed. “I… there's something…” 

His eyes pleaded for some wordless understanding--whatever it was, it was too big, too tangled up to just _say_ , but the need to convey it was clearly the greater force. 

“Credence, let's do this like we did before,” I said. “You can text it to me if it's easier, if it helps you to organize the thoughts and get it out with less pressure.” 

There was gratitude in the sound of his exhale, the eager nod of his head as he picked up his phone off the coffee table and started typing. 

After a moment of watching him literally spell it out, head bowed in concentration over the phone's faint glow, he handed it over to me and simply let me read rather than hit send. 

_i want to let you see me, all of me, but i'm scared because i have scars and i think i'm ugly and i'm afraid you'll think so too even though i know you won't. but mostly i think i'm just scared that i'll *feel* ugly and it will ruin everything. i want to take a bath with you, i keep thinking about it and i want so much to be naked with you because i know how good it will feel but i can't have one without the other and i feel stuck about it all_

I let out a long breath. “Okay, baby. Okay. I can see that's a lot." 

“I'm sorry!" he blurted out in response and his face took on a sudden mortified cast. 

“No no no, sweetheart," I hushed, reaching out to pull him back against me again. “It's not a lot for _me_ , it's a lot for _you_. And we can talk about it, about what you'd like to do, okay?” 

I wanted more than anything to share with him those things he craved. I wanted that so badly, but it had to be with his comfort in mind, I didn't want to push him too far and lose whatever progress we'd already made. Because it took so much just for him to tell me a thing like this, and I wasn't sure which side of his dilemma was the stronger. Only he could know that, and I'd help him to discover which it was, if I could. 

For a moment I just held him, rubbing gentle circles over his back and burying my nose into his hair, breathing him in. 

“I'm ready to be… _closer_ to you,” he finally whispered, and I could feel that he was growing nearer to working it out now that he'd told me the crux of the issue. “When we're laying together in bed and you're all warm against me I just…. I want to feel your skin against mine so badly I could cry, Daddy. I want that so much.” 

I sighed against his dark curls and kissed his neck once softly, feeling him shiver at the light touch so close after the words he'd just spoken. 

“Oh, my baby. My sweet boy. All I can do is promise you that, whether it's tonight or some other time in the future, whenever you want me to see you unclothed I'm _never_ going to find you ugly or not want to touch you. And I will do my _damndest_ to make you feel how beautiful you are to me. All your scars are ever going to do is make me see how strong you are.” 

He met my eyes for a long moment before he said, “You always make me feel so good… and like you really _want_ me. I want to feel good in my body, like I told you in my letter, and you always do that. Like when you touched me the other morning….” 

Even feeling so torn as he was, at the mention of that morning he flushed a shade of red deep enough I could see it even in the light of the abandoned film flickering away across the room. I felt the responsibility of it settle over me more heavily then, the need to be cautious with what he was going through when the things he was calling to mind had the power to excite me so deeply. 

“Credence," I said, and my voice had taken on a deeper rasp, husky and sandpaper rough. “Baby, that was so beautiful, that made me feel so amazing touching you that way. And… having you touch me, too... like when you kissed me everywhere and made me, _god_ , you made me cum so hard, baby… my gorgeous boy, _fuck…”_

He was breathing heavily already, little panting gasps in the dark, his chest shuddering as though he'd just found sanctuary after a long and arduous chase, which, I suppose he _had._

“Baby, we don't need to do anything new at all if you're not ready for it," I reminded. "We can do as much or as little as you're comfortable with, whatever you want." 

"I _want_ you,” he said, in a voice soft and small for all the hunger it carried. “I just… I want to touch you and see you and I want your hands on me _I love your hands,_ Daddy, your hands feel so good…” 

His arousal was building to something frantic, a powerful urge without words or aim--simply pure _need._

“Credence, here's what I'm going to do." My own breathing was picking up the pace, my cock trapped and aching in the jeans I hadn't bothered to change out of. “I'm going to take off my own clothes, and you can see me and touch me as much as you like, and _only if you want to_ you can take off whatever of yours you feel okay with. Or keep it on entirely. Do you agree to this? We always have the word anytime you need to call it to a halt.” 

He was nodding, eyes already roving over every part of me as if I were sat naked before him already, as if he could take my clothes off just by _willing_ it. “Yes," he said, “please… Daddy I want to see you, I..." 

His hands moved uncertainly towards me, and as I started tugging my shirt up over my chest he took hold of it to help me and I groaned just at that--his trembling eagerness, shaky breaths skimming hot over my newly revealed skin. 

As soon as my shirt was on the floor next to the couch, my hands were at my belt and his had joined them, fumbling together in a clattering, clumsy urgency. Credence couldn't seem to decide between devouring me with his eyes or his mouth, surging forward to lick and kiss at my lips every few seconds only to pull back and scan over my naked chest with wide and hungry eyes. 

The sound of us drowning out the noise of the TV--the harsh, panting breaths, the wet little hollow _smack_ of each frantic kiss, the zipper of my jeans as it pulled loudly open--all of it had every inch of me burning, aching for the feel of skin on skin. At this rate, I was nearly ready to cum in my pants again, but if I came it was going to be on Credence's terms. He needed to see me exposed, vulnerable to his touch before he could let me do the same, and I was more than happy to oblige him, remembering the softness of his lips against my stomach that day. 

I stood up from the couch and Credence watched, legs tucked up beneath him and hands trembling on the tops of his pajama-clad thighs as I pushed my jeans and boxers together down to the floor and kicked them away. 

In the past, my experience with clothed male/naked male has always been as the _clothed_ party, but having Credence there in his rumpled pajamas, licking his lips and regarding me with that ravenous, open _need_ …. it was turning me on more than I could've ever anticipated. Never mind jerking off for him, _this_ had me feeling like living art--the way his gaze flicked over me like a physical touch, my skin tingling under the trail of his sight. I gave my cock a slow caress, swirling the pad of my thumb around the slickened head and saw the tenting fabric at his own lap twitch in response. We were _so_ in tune, the act of touching myself had become touching _him_ , too. 

“Do you want to put your hands on me, Credence? Or just watch me like _this_?” 

Another languid stroke, and he made a shivery little sound, lips wetly parting. 

“I want to touch," he said, reaching his hands tentatively out towards me. 

I stepped forward into his range and immediately shuddered down the length of my body, head tilted back at the sublime sensation of his cool, long-fingered hands laid flush against my bare torso for the first time. Looking down again, I saw he was absolutely transfixed--breathing open-mouthed so close to where my hand was gently cupping over my erection--sliding his palms slowly over the bare surfaces of my body. His gaze followed over every place his hands went, drinking in the sight of me along with the feel and when he gently circled his thumb around a pebbled nipple he groaned out loud with me as if it were his own. 

We locked our eyes, objectification moving over into connection as if on some hidden cue and his hands dropped down to the buttons at the collar of his pajamas. 

“I want this," he said, answering my question before I could even ask it. I felt my face going slack with arousal at the sight of his slim fingers deftly popping each button free, and the rapid reveal of the dark hair curling thick on his naked chest had my mouth running suddenly dry. “I love you and I trust you, and I want to feel you." 

The flannel top pooled down around his waist, his eyes burning on mine in a look that was half challenge and all courage. His bare chest rose and fell with each heaving breath and I could see in the eerie television glow the few faint lines curving around his shoulders and ribs where his mother had whipped him and carelessly let the lashes wrap. 

“You're beautiful, Credence," I said, the words as unequivocal as the ones he'd just given me: his love, his trust, his want. “You’re the most beautiful person I've ever seen, every part of you… you're the only one I want to touch, the one I've been _waiting_ for, the one I love. You're _my_ boy.” 

I could see the shimmer of tears down his face, reflecting colour from the screen behind me and it struck me then how right I'd been in telling him he _was_ just like the girl in the film: a being of pure magic and indomitable soul. Here he was turning my life rightside up as if he'd planned it all along, our most profound moment unfolding while some nineteen-eighties romantic comedy chattered absurdly on in the background. I could never have anticipated the reality of _Credence_ , could never in all my longings have devised someone as priceless and perfect as him. 

“Please touch me," he whispered, and I got down on my knees naked before him and obliged. 

First, I kissed along the tracks of his tears, tasting their salt as I cradled the back of his head in one hand. He tilted into it with a soft moan and I caught his mouth in a kiss, deep and searching, licking entrance against the seam of his lips until he opened to me with another groan. His legs were splayed wide to either side of my hips and I leaned forward into the cradle between them, feeling him gasp into my mouth when my bare cock nudged and slid against his clothed erection. 

I did it again, this time with purpose as I ran my palm up the ladder of his ribs until I found the hard nub of his nipple under my thumb and teased it. At that, Credence pulled back from my kiss with a choked-out little wounded sound and stared into my face, panting hard. Holding his gaze steady, I pushed the length of my cock slowly against his one more time--no mistaking it--brushing lightly over his stomach with the backs of my knuckles and feeling it quiver. 

“ _Yes_ ," he breathed, his eyes wide and black in the TV light. 

My fingers found his nipple again and pinched it gently in time with my next little thrust. 

“Yes," he moaned again as though he couldn't help himself. “Yes, _this_. Daddy, _yes_ ….” 

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, pushing them down lower on his hips, struggling to free himself. 

“Do you want Daddy to touch you, baby?" I asked, already helping to tug the pants down around the tops of his thighs. “Do you want to cum with me? With our cocks together?" 

“ _Yes yes yes_ , please…. Daddy, oh god. .." 

He was leaking, as achingly hard as I was and drooling clear slick down the length of his flushed erection. We both bent our heads and watched, foreheads pressed as I lined myself up along with him and curled my fist around our joined girth, moaning together at the first impossibly delicious slide. 

“ _Oh fuck_ , baby.” 

My voice and every other part of me was strained, pulled tight as a bowstring ready to snap. Neither of us was going to last long. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, my gorgeous boy… oh, you're gonna make me cum, you always make Daddy cum so fucking hard…” 

Credence whimpered out a nearly tortured sound of abject pleasure every time the head of my cock slipped up over his, little hiccups and sighs shuddering through him with force. His hands wrapped down around my bare shoulders, smoothing over the plains of my back and clinging to me as he thrust against the slide. To think he'd been holding all this in... this absolute fury, this howling gale of raw passion. He was naked in my arms and letting himself go once again, a little further every time and it was _glorious_. 

I’d wanted to watch a movie and listen to his thoughts and here we were: sweat-slick and sharing my fist on the couch, grunting and swearing and giving it up hard for each other. I looked down at the waistband of his PJs stretched taut around the meat of his pale thighs and it was the last straw, the most erotic thing I've ever seen, enough to drive me mad. 

The first hard spurt streaked out high over his stomach and he cried out against my shoulder, his voice sounding as wild and driven to the brink as I was. “ _Ohhh_ I can _feel_ you, Daddy!” 

His hand dropped down to join my own around us, finishing the circle and stroking to his own release. I curled forward and clamped my lips over his nipple, flicking with my tongue just like he'd done to me that one sweet morning and as he shuddered and spilled along with me I couldn't tell whose pulsing throb was whose.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Already I craved my routines with him all day as something essential to us both--looking forward to that nearly meditative space where it was just the two of us--breath and warmth and skin, and the magic of what we were slowly building together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graves muses on the importance of boundaries, patience, and right timing. We see some more emerging technique (a particular favourite of mine) and some deepening of the D/s dynamic.

I can't stress enough the importance of timing. In life as a whole, and especially in BDSM. Getting into that perfect synchronicity as a pair, communicating clearly and timing things _just right_ can make for some of the most exhilarating experiences of your life, and with Credence it seemed to come as natural between us as breathing. I really can't ask for anything better than that, than _him._

Already I craved my routines with him all day as something essential to us both--looking forward to that nearly meditative space where it was just the two of us--breath and warmth and skin, and the magic of what we were slowly building together. 

_Slowly_ being the key thing. So many people new to kink or simply curious about it spend months just lurking online, fantasizing and reading. Some never get past that stage at all, but a good few who do dive right in way deeper than they're actually prepared for: the sudden breaking of a dam that we call “sub frenzy.” And pushing an endeavor before it's time can easily set things up for failure, which can be at best, a disappointment, and at worst, detrimental to all parties. 

Here I'd gone and found Credence in a grocery store and within several weeks he was petitioning to become my submissive--only having just learned that was a thing he could potentially be. 

And there it is: something he could _be_. It comes down to identity, so much of this life, and so much of what he'd been tangled up in from day one, trying to figure out who he is and what kind of lifestyle and habits could support that understanding. 

He'd had religion, not by choice, but there's security to be found in that as long as you fit in and can convince yourself that it really does all add up. He had anxiety and its little whispers--ideas and rituals to hang onto in the futile hope of keeping the uncertainty at bay--a sort of religion in its own right. And now he'd found D/s, as many disillusioned and outcast people do. Refugees of religion and fear, the ones for whom a deeper experience is required. 

I wanted to give Credence something that he didn't have to _believe_ in. Something tangible and real, _right there_ in the solidity of my body. No distant ideology to chase, no tremulous hope or theory. Just the timbre of my voice moving through him where my chest pressed bare against his spine, the warm embrace of the steaming water cradling us both. He might not be a good Christian anymore, but he was Daddy's boy, and Daddy was here. 

Others had tried to define Credence in so many ways, telling him who he was supposed to be, and it hadn't gotten him anywhere. _Here_ he would have the space and the freedom to self declare. Through our connection he could experience trust, make choices and set boundaries, and best of all, move towards something positive and enriching rather than simply living around what he _didn't_ want. Find out who he _is_ rather than fear who he _isn't._

The fact is, anxiety likes to seek out a home with as much determination as Credence had been himself. I knew it was inevitable his fears would begin to shift and revolve in some way around his new life: whether he was doing things _right_ , whether or not he would somehow lose me, whether there was something formless and _wrong_ anywhere between us. Because what we had was the most important thing, to both of us, and therefore the focus of his strongest feelings-- _all_ of them. And I was readying us both for whatever that might bring, laying down the safest and most stable foundation I could. Which calls for _patience_.

“I'm sorry I'm not ready yet to go out to stuff," he said, the bass murmur of his voice echoing off the bathroom tiles, wet hair plastered against my shoulder where I'd tucked myself behind him in the tub. 

The porcelain squealed its complaint as I shifted and wrapped my arms around his slippery torso. “Baby, you can't be doing everything at once. You're going to school and therapy, you've entered into a whole new relationship and lifestyle along with it… it's more than enough that you've been getting to know a few people online. They can wait.” 

He sighed, turning a little in my arms to face me better. "I just feel guilty, like I'm making everyone wait and it shouldn't be such a big deal.” 

"You don't owe anything to anyone. It takes the time that it takes and that's different for each person. And besides…” I pressed a kiss against the steamy little alcove below his ear, drinking in his clean strawberry scent. “They understand completely and no one's expecting anything outside of what you're comfortable with. Everyone's just happy that you're here with me, and that's enough.” 

“I just..." he shrugged a little against me. “I don't want to disappoint everyone, like I just get so frustrated with being so _extra_ all the time.” 

“You're not disappointing anyone, baby. Least of all me.” 

The wet curls pressed slick at the nape of his neck had me suddenly gripped with a protectiveness that almost _hurt_ to feel. 

“Besides,” I said, "I _love_ having you all to myself. And, I don't want you taking on too much when you're not ready or it's not good for you. To be honest, if you weren't the one acknowledging it first, I'd have to put my foot down and draw some limits.” 

I want to say that it surprised me when he drew his lip between his teeth and shivered against me, gone suddenly doe-eyed and pliant in my arms. I want to say that, but it didn't surprise me at all--I've yet to meet a sub who didn't melt a little at the word _no_. 

“You would?" he asked, voice catching on something warm and breathy shifting inside. “You've… never done that before…” 

“No, I haven't, because you're always such a good boy for me. But don't think that I won't draw the line when enough is enough.” 

Credence's lips parted on shallow breath and he looked almost… stunned at himself, at how deeply such a simple idea was affecting him. And it was very _decidedly_ affecting him, cock steadily thickening and bobbing up with interest in the fading suds. 

_“... Daddy….”_

“What is it, baby?" I tucked a dripping curl back behind his ear and he took in a sharp little breath, suddenly hypersensitive to my lightest touch. “Why do you like that so much, hmmm?" 

"... I… because I know you're looking out for me and you won't let anything… get _too much_ , even when it's me that's doing it…” 

“Oh, there's my clever boy, my _good boy_." 

It never failed to amaze me, how quickly Credence could move into a state of acute arousal as soon as he was given a demonstration of his safety. Every part of him was hungry for it, waiting in the wings for the signal to rise. He’d been absolutely on the mark in knowing it was a _Daddy_ out of all Doms that he needed, seeing how turned on he became just knowing I was capable of taking charge in a caring way. Bad things, scary _not ready_ things weren't going to happen under this roof because I wasn't going to _let_ them, and that certain understanding had him melting in the steaming bathwater against me. The words had barely left my mouth before he let out a little moan, that named I'd called him brushing something tender as surely as a touch. 

“Is that who you are?" I whispered against his ear and it was just as good as saying _walk_ to a dog--feeling him begin to tense and quiver, ready to whine for it. “Are you Daddy's good boy?"

"... Yes, please…. I want to be your good boy.” 

“Oh... you already are, my baby.” 

I ran my hands along the tender skin of his inner thighs under the water and he arched up against my chest, opening himself entirely to my touch with a delicate sigh. Another little shivering moan left him as I settled my hands at the juncture of groin and thigh, framing his arousal with softly stroking thumbs… so close, a teasing promise. 

“You're always such a good boy for me," I said, my voice a low rumble now beneath the _drip drip drip_ of the tap, the soft slosh of the water. 

“You know what happens to good boys?" My lips brushed gently against the shell of his ear again and I nibbled there as I spoke, feeling his every muscle coil tightly in expectation. 

“ _Good_ things, baby. Good things happen to good boys." 

"Daddy, _please….”_

His hips had begun to rock, gentle shifts back and forth, seeking the contact just inches out of reach as little waves splashed and slapped against the sides of the tub with the motion. Since that night on the couch, kneeling naked before him with our bodies sliding together in panting desperation--his sensuality, his eager _need_ had been spilling just as readily forth at a nearly constant rate. He was young, he was horny as hell and likely had been for a very long time… and I'd _seen_ him and wanted him and it was going to be _okay._

“I think it's time to dry off and get into bed, hmm? Time to get you all nice and sleepy.” 

He only nodded, twisting slippery slick between my legs to get his arms around me and beg a kiss or two, both of us now aching hard in the cooling bathwater. 

I guided him up out of the tub on shaky legs to towel him off carefully and pepper his soft, clean skin with sucking kisses as I went. Credence stood trembling the whole while, eyes dazed and half-lidded, huffing out the occasional gasping breath at the brush of the warm terry cloth and the lingering press of my mouth that inevitably followed. 

Down the hall, he was nearly trance-like in the way he followed along, stumbling clumsy in his lust and reminding me of that first kiss in the living room: bumping his knee against the coffee table in his eagerness to get to me. To have that much raw, sexual power ready to spring forth beneath my fingertips was enough to have me dripping already at the thought--just as equally excited to channel my own arousal into the task at hand and let it fuel me. It was better than drugs, or the thrill of a good fight, better than any rush I'd ever felt elsewhere… to have the bedroom nearly vibrating with all that potent anticipation, as if calling down and harnessing a storm. 

I sat naked at the edge of the bed and scooted back a bit, giving him the space to settle down between my legs the way he'd just been in the tub. Before he turned himself around, I caught his gaze, sliding my hands up and down over his trembling hips like soothing a restless horse. 

“Are we good?" I asked. 

“Yes," he nodded, eyes glazed and cock rigid at attention. “Yes, Daddy, we're… we're so good, please..." 

I hushed him gently, running a few more of those calming strokes before slowly turning him around to pull down between my legs again. What it meant for him to turn his bare back wasn't and never would be lost on me, but I didn't make a meal of it that first time and I wasn't going to. I'd chosen instead to embark on a silent campaign of demonstration, taking each opportunity I could to cover the scarred surface with my own body, never lingering with my eyes or scrutinizing its details. 

I hadn't needed to examine those marks, knowing them at first glance--they were the result of having been whipped with something thin and supple, many times, over many years and always done badly. They were made with passion rather than skill, the work of a cold fury that likely laid in wait just under the surface at all times. I knew what that kind of constant tension could do--living like easy prey within your own four walls was something I had some experience with, and maybe I'd share that with him one day. 

Right now, what I needed to share with him were the rewards that came with practicing self-care and communicating his own limits. If all went well, the end result would be the gradual building of a _new_ visceral association--a much more pleasant one--around the feeling of having me close behind him. I never touched him there with my hands, never any sort of articulate sensation, just the solid press of my body against his. Always too close to really see much detail, and far too close to strike. Shielding him, essentially; my heartbeat and my voice and my breath right there where he could feel. The body _remembers,_ and above all I wanted to teach his that I would let nothing hurt him. Anything coming would have to come through me. 

“What's the rule, baby?” 

His body pressed back loose and relaxed against mine, neck arched, his head cradled on my shoulder. “My boundaries are sacred," he answered breathily. "I say the word if I need to.” 

“Good boy.” 

"I _love_ it when you call me that," he moaned softly, and when he heard me flick open the cap on the bottle of lube off the bedside table he moaned again. 

The soft, wet sounds of the lube as I spread it over my hands had us both quickening our breath--I was so painfully hard against his lower back and over his shoulder I could see a trickle of fluid well up and spill over down the shaft of his flushed cock, untouched. 

“I love _calling_ you that, especially because it's true." 

I finished my statement by placing my hands down over his inner thighs once more, trailing fingertips slowly up from knees to groin. 

His cock twitched in anticipation, another pearl of fluid already forming. Copious. “Your _hands_ … oh god, Daddy, your hands….” 

There was something fond and tender in the sound of my answering hum, full of contentment and _everything's okay_. With the underside of his length cupped in the curve of my fingers, I ran them slowly up towards the head, catching the answering spill on the edge of my knuckles. He made a soft little whimpering sound of pleased surprise and bucked into my touch, silently begging _more_. 

Over and over again, I did this. Slow, teasing touches punctuated with the occasional firm stroke, the pads of my fingers rubbing gentle circles against his frenulum and then away again to trail soft along his stomach and legs--a quick pinch of a nipple--letting him feel the delicious agony of everywhere my hands _weren't._

It wasn't long before he was in constant motion with me: rocking between my legs on the edge of the bed with his hands twisted in the duvet cover, moaning and gasping and thrusting in desperation, just seeking relief. 

His thighs tensed and trembled with a constant vibration as he arched himself forward and curled back, spine tight as a bowstring and grinding against my own aching erection in his perpetual movement. 

“I'm close… Daddy! Now!” 

I pulled my hand away, holding it just hovering a few inches off, the whole time watching with pure mesmerized focus as the orgasm cycled through him--cock pulsing and nodding against the empty air with each contraction. There was no ejaculate, just deep bone-melting pleasure taking him over in wave after wave. 

“ _Good_ boy,” I breathed, nearly close to cumming myself with the sympathetic ecstasy of knowing how he felt, of seeing it before me. When the twitches came a few more seconds apart and his posture loosened slightly, I took him back in hand, quick flickering strokes around the head… and he was right back in again. 

 

~~~

 

You see, laying in bed a week earlier, Credence shared in conversation that he’d never directly touched himself during adolescence, just like he'd said before. But beyond that, he'd found ways to bring himself to the brink of pleasure--rubbing through his clothes or rutting against the bed, chasing one of nature's most urgent impulses always in a state of delicate compromise. 

And so many times when he'd reach the very edge, he would force himself to hold off, both preserving his clothes and his virtue from the sin of Onan. The whole time of course not ever realizing he was essentially training himself to be multi-orgasmic, in an ironic sort of twist. 

When he told me this, I was both stunned and cautiously ecstatic, inwardly praising his incomparable discipline despite the sad motivation behind it. I asked him then if he wanted to reclaim his former practice, under my guidance and literally my hand--using it to restore every lost orgasm and then some. He agreed enthusiastically, and… like I said, the body remembers. 

We'd been at it daily since then, practicing his kegels and ending the evening together in edging sessions that were growing progressively longer. And the operation had been wildly successful, leaving him wrung out and pleasantly spent every night, drowsily wilting like a little boy at the end of a big day as I dressed him for bed. 

 

~~~

 

“How many was that, baby? Three?" 

He shuddered against me, skin coated in a sheen of sweat that I was going to have to rinse off again before bed. 

“...yes, Daddy… three….” 

He was rocking with vigour now between my knees, his cock slick and livid as he fucked up into nothing and did it with purpose all the same. 

“...oh _please_ , I want you to cum with me Daddy I want your cock.… I want to cum with you, like we do….” 

When I stood him up for a moment, holding on carefully the whole time, he was nearly insensate, he was so overstimulated and turned on. I smiled and kissed him soundly as I laid him back down on the edge of the bed, more than ready to give him all the firm and satisfying pressure we both craved, ready to build it back up one more time before winding it down. 

I could barely catch up to how vocal he was becoming, my shy, soft boy talking absolute shit for me as I stood between his knees and tugged his hips down closer. He was a force to be reckoned with now: staring up with eyes blown black and greedy for the sight of me, mouth red and panting. I stroked myself a few times slowly and he _whined_ at the taunt before I lined myself up along his length and started thrusting. 

_“...oh! Daddy I love your cock please I fucking love it I love watching you I wanna make you cum on me… oh, fuck me…. Daddy.. Daddy, I love you…”_

His voice was ragged and full of unfiltered feeling, gone low in his throat and nothing but raw honesty in the sound. I moaned his name right back, let him hear how bad he'd got me: _my baby my boy I love you so much you're gonna make Daddy cum, my sexy boy_

It took easily less than a minute before I was painting his chest, groaning and growling out everything I'd saved up for him, and when he came underneath me I had to hold him down with both hands.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We were in a thrift store, exploring the random piles of accumulated junk and giggling ourselves sick over the musty old fashions hanging on each rack when it happened. The thing I failed to notice and would later curse myself for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little chapter. Credence experiences a sudden trigger and Graves talks with him about it. 
> 
> This one is a little more heavy, there's more detailed discussion of abuse and trauma/trauma recovery. It can be a lot to hear that stuff when it's relatable, but as always, there's some nice resolution and some helpful points to be taken from the chapter.

I should've noticed right when it happened but I didn't. I think maybe a part of me picked up on it at the time, but it didn't click right in, not like it did later when it all came out. One day I might actually forgive myself about that. 

Credence and I were spending our Saturday afternoon poking around in different shops, just running errands and enjoying ourselves outside for a change. The weather was chilly and damp, threatening rain with every tick of the clock, but neither of us seemed to care. Having him alongside me, swinging our joined hands between us on the sidewalk, he was as light-hearted and cheerful as I'd ever seen him, and seemed to be growing more so with every passing day. The whole time, I kept thinking how much his gentle company changed _everything_ \--a simple shopping trip I would've powered through with minimal enjoyment on my own become a small adventure with Credence in tow. He really _was_ a magical mermaid, stepping out of the sea to walk beside me and leave me wondering what the hell I'd been doing with my time before. 

As it was from our very first moment, there was something especially enjoyable in seeing him take in every detail-only now he was so much more forthright in sharing his observations, even making an offhand joke or two. And of course, I was free to touch him now: hand feeding him little morsels in the back of the cafe, kissing him breathless in the alley between shops just because I could, my palm settled warm and possessive at his lower back as I ushered him gently through every space. There's a particular delicacy involved when it comes to maintaining dynamic in public spaces, and Credence was managing its subtleties with perfect finesse. My _little fighter_ was _Daddy's boy_ now and I couldn't stop admiring him with pride. 

We were in a thrift store, exploring the random piles of accumulated junk and giggling ourselves sick over the musty old fashions hanging on each rack when it happened. The thing I failed to notice and would later curse myself for. 

“Hey Credence, check this out, I think my dad used to have one of these back in the day!” 

I was crouched down on the floor amidst the tangled wires and miscellaneous parts that made up the thrift shop's electronics section, pulling out an old CB radio set from underneath a dusty fan. 

“It even still has the antenna and everything.” 

I grinned up at him, holding the microphone in front of my mouth and pantomiming a long haul trucker with visions of Kurt Russell fresh on my mind. “10-4, good buddy." 

Credence turned from the little display of china cups he'd been admiring, mild bemusement lingering in his half-smile and when he saw me with the radio parts in my hands, a careful stillness came over him and he regarded them with a strange look. I understood this all in retrospect, later when I went over the moment again and again in my mind in that futile way we do to try and change a memory and its outcome, poking at it like a sore tooth. I understood it later, but at the time that little tremor passed through him in no more than a second or two before he mastered it. 

“Yeah," he said, and his dry little huff of a laugh was no different from any other that day. "This old stuff is kinda cool." 

And that was that. We left the shop and carried on with our business, and I saw nothing of what was manifesting for him. 

 

~~~

 

That night, or should I say sometime in the early hours of morning, I woke up suddenly from the tangles of a troubling dream, one I hadn't had for a very long time. And that's another thing that struck me later on--the thought that somewhere underneath the surface a part of me really _had_ noticed Credence's cold fear--noticed it and picked it up like a relay baton. 

Just staring at the dim room, I lay there for a minute trying to pull my brain back together and let the fact of where I really was sink in. It was still and potent around me in that way deep night has of seeming to _listen_ , those primitive hours of predator and prey. And then I felt Credence shift next to me and heard him moan. 

I turned to him in the dark and he was tossing, a tight frown pulled down between his brows that looked like pain. At first I thought in my confusion that he might be ill and maybe that's what had woken me, but then he let out a weak little whimper and murmured a few slurred words--enough for me to know he was dreaming, too. 

At first I wasn't sure if I should wake him or not, hands hovering over his prone form just waiting for… whatever I had to be ready for, but then he woke up on his own with a violent start. I think my being _right there_ almost made it worse for him in those first few seconds before it made things better--he took in a deep, shuddering breath and his face closed in like a fist, instantly dissolving into tears. 

“Daddy..." he hiccuped pitifully and I pulled him onto me and held him against my chest to pet him while he let it out, just running my hands over his trembling arms and stroking his curls all tangled and sweat-damp. His sobs were a heartbreaking thing to hear, after a day of such easy going fun. Listening, I was gripped with a helplessness, that futility of wanting so much to simply change the past and spare him all the hurt I hadn't been there to prevent. 

I held him in silence until he was ready to talk, and it didn't surprise me at all that the first thing out of his mouth was an attempted apology. For crying, possibly, or maybe just for having the emotions that led him to it. A knee-jerk reaction that takes hard work to lose when you've been taught that your very presence is asking too much. 

“Shhhh baby, it's okay," I said. "You don't have anything to be sorry for here. To be honest, I was having a bad dream too and I'd much rather think about yours than mine right now.” 

He sniffed, one pale hand trembling over his face as if to hide the unsightly fact of being _human_. “I just… I should have said something before probably, but I didn't because I didn't want it to be a whole _thing_. But then I had a bad dream and now it's obviously more of a thing than _I_ even knew.” 

“What is it, sweetheart? What do you think you should have said something about?” 

The long look he gave had my stomach dropping, a hard lurch weighted down by the reluctant fear I could see in his eyes--the wet gleam of them in the dimness holding something wild and fever bright that he'd brought with him from his dreams. Or his memories. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it was going to be ugly and I was going to have some _feelings_ about it. And that was just the problem… saying it out loud would bring that into being. 

“Baby.” I pulled him close against my chest again, letting him lay his head and ease down on the pressure of seeing my face. He had enough emotions of his own to deal with, I didn't want him thinking he was going to have to take care of mine, too. 

“You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But, if you do… no matter how fucked up it is, I'm just gonna listen and you don't have to worry about my reaction because there isn't gonna be one. So if you need to, you just go ahead and say it.” 

I felt him nod against me and let out a long sigh. He swallowed a few times--feet sweating on the diving board and staring down that jump. 

“It was at the thrift store," he began and then gave himself another long pause. “The… radio, the CB radio you had. It reminded me of something.” 

"Okay, so that was a trigger for you." 

“Yeah, um…. it's, the antenna, that's…”

I'd promised I wasn't going to react, and I wasn't. Not outwardly. But as soon as he said the words I saw those marks he bore--their particular depth and width, the scars layered thick over the backs of his thighs, his shoulders--and I _understood_. I don't know why the implement she'd used made such a difference, yet somehow it did; that final little detail brought such intimate life to the history behind his hurt. Brought me right into the room with it. 

“That's what she used," I finished softly. I wasn't going to make him say it. 

“Yeah," he answered, and just like that, he was crying again, tears soaking hot into the undershirt I'd worn to bed back in that other life when I didn't know the thing he'd just told me. 

His voice was choked for air around the tears when he spoke again, throat strangling out the sound as though he had to fight himself for the words. 

“I just… I hate that I feel so fragile all the time, like we were having… a really nice day and this completely normal everyday thing upset me bad enough to end up like _this_ over it….” 

And there it was, the open wound we carry right inside ourselves even when the skin has long since scabbed and healed over. Just like it was with the compulsive _I'm sorries_ , it takes hard work and diligence to move beyond that place where the most innocuous sudden thing can pull you right back down to hell again. Credence, in true Credence form, was holding himself to an expectation that would be years in the crafting after only a handful of week's therapy. I couldn't let him do that, couldn't let him think that's how it's supposed to work, for _anyone_.

“Okay baby," I said, “the thing is, it's _not_ just a normal everyday thing for you, because someone took that regular object and turned it into a torture device. We see a gun, we get scared because we know what it's used for and what it can do. And with this, it's the same. I saw an old radio and you saw a weapon that's hurt you many times. That's… completely rational, you need to know that.” 

The way he clung to me, all lanky limbs and face flushed hot from crying, I wanted to absorb his hurt straight through the skin, knowing at the same time that wouldn't help anybody. 

"I'm so tired of being this way," he said, and that fatigue was right there in the thinness of his voice. "Having this stuff all the time that other people don't seem to. She was never like this with my sisters nearly as much as she was with me, so it just… it's got to be something about me, right? Why did she hate me so much? I feel stupid saying it like that, but I can't help it." 

I sighed. I've never liked it, trying to work my mind around someone whose motivations are so alien to me. How easy it would be for everyone if there simply weren't… people who rely on selfishness and cruelty to find their way through themselves. I didn't understand them, but I _did_ understand the people left in the fallout and I knew from experience that with Dr. Piquery's expert hand and my own patient support, Credence would come to a place where his inner workings weren't all such an alienating mystery. 

"Credence, we naturally want things to make sense. And when someone who's supposed to show us love constantly hurts us, or when something awful and random happens to throw our lives off course, we'll try to find ways to explain it. And a lot of the time, that will mean trying to carry the blame." 

He was still, lying there against me and I could see the flicker of his eyelashes with each blinking shift in his gaze, feel the slowness of each measured breath. He was listening. Listening and hearing in my words the sense that he craved so badly. 

"It's a lot easier to believe that we've done something wrong, or that there's something wrong with us when bad things happen, because that means we might have some control," I told him. "We think, 'maybe there's something I can change so this won't happen again.' And how much better is that to hold onto, than the terrible truth that something painful and unfair just simply… happened. Often for no better reason than someone wanted it to." 

"That… sounds like something Dr. Piquery was saying, about my OCD and stuff. Trying to have control." 

I kissed the top of his head and nodded. Credence never failed to impress me with his clever mind, his intuition. He picked things up so quickly and when he did he _kept_ them. 

"Dr. Piquery is right, they are definitely related. And you're also very smart to connect the two so quickly, my good boy." 

He bit his lip and turned his eyes on me, encouraged by the praise and scenting something crucial there--he was here, in bed with me and those dark days were behind him. Now the only thing left was letting himself and his autonomic system really feel it. Just as I'd been musing earlier in the day, thinking of how much my life was changing through his presence, the same could easily be said for his, as well. I wanted more than anything for that sweeping change to be a source of strength and relief, and never something that overwhelmed him or added to his burden. 

"Credence," I said, "I can understand if it was upsetting to see something like that in my hands. If it makes you uncomfortable in any way, if you need time to lose the association, I need you to know that's completely fine, okay?" 

He shook his head and pulled himself higher up to lay his head on my shoulder, slim arms wrapping around me with possessive certainty. 

"No," he said softly. "That's just the thing. I think in some ways that's what struck me so hard about it. In your hands, it was just a fun thing and so innocent. So much different from her. Maybe… maybe the contrast between then and now is what drove it home for me, made me realize how awful a thing like that really is, instead of just a part of my everyday life like it used to be." 

I nodded and held him back just as tightly. He would come to find those moments--that shocking contrast between present and past happening more frequently now. Sometimes the horror and grief would pull him down like an icy plunge, to think all those things that happened were truly real. That memories like that had any place in a life that boasted moments of peace as well. And, sometimes those realizations would carry gratitude in their wake, a goal I'd be doing my damndest to help him reach. It would take time, and diligence, but we'd get there. 

We were out of the woods now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-fingered hand reached out to stroke over the nearest rounded ear, pale grey and soft as chinchilla around the pink satin lining of its interior. I knew because I'd spent an unusual amount of time doing the same thing myself at the store as I perused the various animals, looking for that special _one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a spicy meatball. 
> 
> Fair warning: we're getting into some more forthright age play kink here, just in case that's not something you enjoy. That having been said, for the skeptical, this might be an opportunity to see some insight into why certain people enjoy this kink and what it does for them. 
> 
> Our boys get into a genuine "scene" here, essentially for the first time, so there's a look at what Graves is handling and how he's handling it.

"Oh, he's so _soft_ …." 

I don't know if there's anything better than that particular feeling when you absolutely know you've done something _right_ , but either way, I was going to be riding high off the look in Credence's eyes for weeks, maybe even forever. 

I stood leaning against the living room wall watching as he turned those eyes on me, wide and full of wonder, only to look back down again and linger admiringly over the large plush bear propped on the couch. A long-fingered hand reached out to stroke over the nearest rounded ear, pale grey and soft as chinchilla around the pink satin lining of its interior. I knew because I'd spent an unusual amount of time doing the same thing myself at the store as I perused the various animals, looking for that special _one._

You see, after Credence's nightmare, we'd laid together in bed till dawn just talking over his feelings and the fears he held about coming from a childhood full of deprivation and darkness. And in that conversation, he'd let slip that he never owned a stuffed animal as a kid, or really many toys at all, on account of his mother's belief that such things amounted to pagan idolatry. I had my suspicions it was far simpler than that--she'd wanted only to deny him affection, even if it came from no more than a piece of soft fabric with glass eyes. 

It was my job, and my honour, to show him that affection would be had in abundance under my roof, that our softest and most tender feelings would be given free reign and would _always_ be seen to. Because I loved him _soft_ : warm flannel and contented sighs, pliant as the stuffed bear now cuddled in his lap--and I loved being soft _for_ him. At very first sight, Credence and his open vulnerability had pulled me in and promptly set my core to melting. Everywhere else in my life, I needed to be hard--it's what was both required and expected of me, keeping everyone safe and firmly in line with stoic poise. But not with Credence. With him, I got to be _Daddy,_ and I couldn't think of anyone who deserved to be spoiled more than he did. 

Hearing Credence call the bear "he" right away… it moved me somehow. Watching that instant personification, that _bond_ happen the very second his gaze landed, the way his love in all its heavy abundance could lay claim so easily to even a cuddly toy--he was bringing it to life through the pure alchemy of his emotion. To have that much empathy can be both a burden and a wonderful gift; how painful it would have been to live in the kind of home he'd come from with such a sweet, giving heart. I thought of all the ways he must have tried to understand and sympathize with his mother despite, or even worse, _because_ of what she did. The concern for his sisters and the need to shield them, the constant longing for a friend. All that generous feeling for everyone else and not a scrap spared for him in return--I had no doubt in my mind that Credence had been the only true Christian under that roof, easily. To think he'd brought me into that love of his, how blessed I was to have the bulk of it all to myself, to cultivate and to bask in. To build a life under its canopy. 

"I can…. " he paused, cautiously testing the parameters of how _much_ he was allowed to like his new gift, how unabashed he could be with his affection. "I can have him with me.. . when I'm at school, maybe…? When I stay the night there sometimes…" 

My grin was threatening to consume my whole face, I could feel it. "Of course," I said. "That's one of the reasons I thought you might like to have him, actually." 

His smile was a slow warming thing, teeth firmly clamped on his lip to keep it all from getting out of hand--holding it back like a small child tugging to run free and play. Credence always kept himself in check this way, tried his best to contain everything he was feeling and not let it overwhelm or become unsightly. But when he loosened his control, in the safety of my care, when he gave that control over to me… people give their lives up trying to feel that sort of elation. 

"Am I… I'm supposed to name him, right?" he asked, looking back down at the bear in his lap as lovingly as a proud new mother. 

I came to sit next to him on the couch, regarding the bear thoughtfully for a moment. 

"Well, yes," I said. "I suppose he should have a name. What are you thinking would suit him?" 

He licked his lips and an almost mischievous glimmer came into his eyes to bely the careful tameness of his smile. 

"I think I want to call him after you," he answered. 

"After _me_? You want… to call him _Daddy_?" 

Credence started giggling at that, the mischievous twinkle now cascading over into genuine _mirth_. 

"No, not Daddy," he said. "Only _you're_ Daddy. I meant Percy." 

"Ohhh..." 

My love for him, the _worshipful_ absolute gratitude of it came through me like a heatstroke. I felt as if every moment I'd shared with him was playing out in sequence all at once there in my heart: his red shopping basket and its spartan contents, that first kiss on the couch, his letter and his hands on my naked skin in the TV light, his three a.m. tears. Just… Credence. 

"I think that would be really nice," was all I said. "A little mini Percy to take with you." 

"Yeah!" He finally let the grin fly, caught up in the sudden rush of being understood just enough to forget to rein it in. "He… kind of reminds me of you. He's perfect." 

"Even the magenta bow tie?" I asked. "I can't say I've ever worn one of those." 

The grin got bigger, the roguish shimmer returned. _Sneaky baby_. 

"Even the bow tie, if I'm ever lucky enough to see you in _that_ ," he said. 

I was laughing as I stood up from the couch and held my hand out to help him up with me. 

"Well," I told him, "right _now_ you're gonna be lucky enough for bath time." 

"Can…" here Credence gave the bear a longing look, already reluctant to set him aside and stop petting his silver fur. "Can I bring Percy, too? Not to go in the tub," he added in a rush, "just… to sit in there with us, maybe." 

He really _had_ taken to his new friend. 

"Yeah, baby… let's bring him along. Why not?" 

 

~~~

 

Percy sat on the counter top, calmly standing guard and watching over the proceedings as I gave Credence his evening bath. I wasn't joining him this night, having already showered, and if I'm going to be strictly honest, I quite enjoyed simply bathing Credence. Focusing entirely on him heightened the pleasure of his being _mine_ to care for, knowing the whole while he wasn't genuinely helpless but rather willing to let me tend him in ways he'd never been allowed before. 

The first few times, he'd been skeptical, so unused to being on the receiving end of anything but punishment that it left him clinging to a tremor of guilt--checking again and again with me that it really was okay, I really _liked_ doing it. Soon enough though, the stark fact of how much it actually turned me on, the undeniable evidence of just _how much_ I did truly _like_ it turned the tide on his concern. 

Since that shift, bath time had become quite the steamy affair in every sense. More than half the time, I'd wind up nearly as wet as him, unable to resist the temptation to kiss, to wrap my arms around his slim, slippery form, sleeves rolled up and hands beneath the surface to find how he liked his bath as much as I did. 

"Hmmm…. that feels so good, Daddy." 

I massaged his scalp with one hand, feeling the thick strands flow smooth between my fingers, moving with the warm water I carefully poured over his tilted head. He was gorgeous like this, every sculpted angle on display, wet and gleaming and open to my touch. For me, it was a form of adoration to be able to see him like this, to be allowed to caress him in a state of such total vulnerability--almost more so than in bed. 

Only _I_ got to have this: his eyes closed and trusting, the nape of his neck cradled in my palm, the arching curve of his pale throat. And I'll admit it, having him in my home safe and happy--knowing for certain that I was _seeing to it_ \--that did things to me. It made me dripping hard every time to watch him unwind in the fragrant suds, satisfied and rosy with the food he'd taken straight from my hand, knowing all the while pleasure was on the menu and soon enough he'd be a whole other kind of wet. 

"Is that nice, baby?" I leaned over the edge of the tub, admiring the stretch of his long slender legs as I brushed my lips along the shell of his ear. "All clean at the end of a long day, my little mermaid boy…" 

"... _Daddy… mhmmm_ … 

"Oh, my baby... you're so beautiful, do you know that? Do you know how much I love you?" 

It never failed to make him blush, no matter what we did together--what sort of lewd, groaning, grinding act we performed. Just words, simple and sweet, had him flushing crimson every time. 

For a moment I merely revelled in the sight of him: pink in the cheeks and blinking water from his lashes, turning bashful and coy under my stare. His eyes flickered over to his bear and he smiled again softly before I saw a question beginning to percolate just under the surface of his gaze. 

"Daddy?" he finally said. 

"Mhmm, what is it, baby?" 

I watched the blush steadily deepen and begin to spread, flushing down his tender neck and bleeding slowly out over his collarbones. Wherever his thoughts were going, I wanted to follow him there. It suddenly seemed a great act of will, keeping myself from leaning in to suck at the heated skin of his throat. He was _mine_ but I still wanted him with a desperation I couldn't ever quite shake and didn't care to. 

"Um," he began, "why do I…. like, why does it excite me so much when you take care of me and it makes me feel like a… like a little boy, kind of? Not an _actual_ one, but just… when you gave me Percy tonight and when you do things like this, giving me a bath and stuff like that… " 

He trailed off for a moment, frustrated in his search for the words. I simply waited, smiling my encouragement with an open face until he continued. 

"When you do those things, Daddy…. it turns me on _so much_. And I don't know if that's like, _weird_ , to feel that way. Or maybe bad. But I don't know how to stop and I don't think I want to." 

There was something intimate in the sound of the sloshing water and the waiting tension as I mulled over how best to answer. He was perhaps never more vulnerable to me than in that moment and the next words out of my mouth would have a crucial impact. 

After a small pause, I did my best to frame it in a way that he could make sense of. 

"Baby, there are a lot of people in the kink community who like to engage in what we call 'age play,' which has a similar feel to what you're describing. Sometimes it's very mild and subtle and sometimes quite overt. And for obvious reasons, that's a very fertile ground for a lot of strong feelings. Personally, I think between consenting adults there's absolutely nothing wrong with it and at the end of the day, it has nothing to do with _actual_ little boys, like you said." 

He was nodding gently, eyes drifting out over the water, just listening in that deep and thoughtful way I loved so much about him. More than anything, I wanted to avert the possibility of his feeling any shame in something so private that we both enjoyed. 

"I think it makes sense, Credence, that feeling safe and cared for in a way you never got to when you were an actual child, well, it makes you feel good. And, between consenting adults, feeling good can feel _good_ , you know? As it happens, it makes me feel terribly excited, too, did you know that?" 

He raised his head and blinked his eyes at me, that flush still painting his pale skin in dappled patches. "It does? I mean, I knew you liked touching me and seeing me naked in the bath, but…." 

"It's not just that, sweetheart. It's being able to take care of you like a proper _Daddy_ , knowing I can make you safe and loved and that you feel it. That you feel so good, and you can just be free to be a sweet little boy with me, if you want to." 

His eyes fluttered halfway shut at the words _sweet little boy_ , and just knowing we were taking things there, that it was where he _wanted_ me to take him--it had me moving from half-mast to achingly hard in an instant. 

"Do you like that?" I asked and he took a deep breath and nodded. 

I asked "Is this what you want?" and he nodded again. 

"My sweet little boy." I said the words again and he whimpered, almost too quietly for me to catch. I reached out a hand and tucked a wet curl behind his ear, locking eyes with him so he knew we were in this moment of total sincerity together. " _Daddy's_ little boy." 

Whatever we'd started with the _Daddies_ and the _good boys_ weeks ago was on the brink of spilling over into something powerful. It was something I could see would require careful handling, but more importantly, it was something that Credence fervently wanted--perhaps even needed from me. 

He let that breath out all shaky and his hands reached out to me, less hesitant now than he ever had been before. There was urgency there, of a new sort--we'd tapped into a potent source, a force working right at our very centres and I knew then I had to see us through it all the way to the other side. 

"Daddy," he breathed, wrapping his dripping arms around my neck, "Daddy, please… I want bedtime." He was panting against my neck, chest rising and falling rapidly where it pressed soaking through my shirt. 

I put my arms around him and my hands were trembling, echoing the pounding of my heart. _Oh god, Credence_ … he was constantly unfolding for me, each time deeper than the last. 

"Okay," I nodded, doing my best to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Let's get you to bed." 

 

~~~

 

I carried him in my arms all the way to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel with his teddy dangling helplessly from one hand. Just doing that much, I was so turned on it almost scared me and I could feel the way we'd been building up to this since the very first glance--lost and crying in the grocery store, my little fighter, my _little boy._

When I laid him out on the bed, next to his pajamas neatly folded and waiting on the pillow, he moaned so low I felt it vibrate right through the mattress. Gently, I grasped his ankles and spread his legs a little wider, ready to crawl up between them but just then his moaning shifted into a broken plea. 

"Daddy…" he whined, "Daddy, _please_." 

"What is it baby boy, what do you need?" 

He looked frantic when he met my eyes, glazed and fever-hot. "It feels… I need..." 

"Come on, sweetie," I murmured, gentle and coaxing. "Show me where it hurts." 

His breath caught and stuttered hearing me say it, with the realization I wasn't going to deny him this. With his eyes locked on mine, burning without any trace of reluctance, he slowly snaked his hand down his pale stomach and grasped himself lightly, unable to help bucking up once into his own touch with a soft sound. I'd never seen him handle himself, not ever, and the sight gripped me so hard I felt dizzy and nearly faint. I understood now, even better than when we'd begun: he could voice his desires freely as my _little_ boy. It had been there in shades growing ever brighter all along, the way he would break down and gush his horny thoughts for me at just the right moments, with a _good boy_ here and a _sweetheart_ there. But now we'd gone and named it again. Now, he was small and needy--never having learned self-restraint--at the mercy of his own tempestuous whims and safe in the knowledge that Daddy would make it all okay in the end. 

"Daddy, please," he groaned again, running trembling fingertips up the underside of his length where it was slick and glistening, _showing_ me just like I'd asked. "Please…. kiss it better, please." 

My lips parted on a soft gasp, mouth salivating at just the very _idea_ of it. 

"Baby, is that what you need? Are you sore…. right here?" 

Already I'd prowled forward onto the bed, stretched out between his legs to prop over his waist where my hand hovered above his. He nodded fervently, and before I could even ask, the words were rushing out of him, telling me exactly what I needed to know without breaking scene even slightly. 

"I know the rule, Daddy, I'm a good boy…" 

I couldn't help but smile even through the heat of my lust, beaming with genuine pride and amazement. 

"You _are_ ," I said, lifting his hand away and letting him feel the breath of my speech against his aching erection. "You're my _very_ good boy." 

When I cupped him in my hand and pressed the softest of kisses against the head--tasting the sweet tang of him for the very first time--the noise he let out was guttural and raw as bone. I wanted to drink that sound right down, drink every part of him and I groaned out loud to think I was about to do just that. 

His hands fisted to either side of his hips, twisting in the sheets so tight they looked close to ripping in his grasp. I listened to him whimper and hiss as I ran my tongue up the length of his cock, pausing long enough to watch a drop of fluid swell from his tender pink slit before catching it on my tongue. He gasped and bucked on the mattress, swallowing hard against his own intake of breath. 

"Shhhh, sweet boy, Daddy's got you. I'm gonna make you feel so good, okay?" 

He only panted and swallowed loudly again, propped on his elbows now and riveted to the sight of my mouth on his cock. 

With my free hand, I reached down and pulled myself out of my jogging pants and I heard him groan to see me hard the way he never failed to. As with so many things, it was his first time and I was going to give him a show--let him see everything I had for him, how much Daddy loves to feel him quiver. I didn't even need to perform, so hungry to have him in my mouth soon enough I was moaning just as loud as him. 

He was tense as a steel rod beneath me as I licked and gently sucked, torn between holding still to let me work him and thrusting up into my mouth, chasing his own pleasure with low groaning little huffs. The firm, fat weight of his cock fit against my tongue like it was made to--one hand splayed low over his belly, holding him in place while I suckled and nursed at the tip until he sounded close to tears.

Soon enough, his hands had found my head, petting and stroking along the sides of my face and over my short grey hair, bringing the image of the silver teddy to mind: his delicate fingers brushing lovingly against plush fur, all shy wonder and tremulous smiles. 

"Oh god, that's it baby boy," I panted out when I felt those hands start to _grip_. My work had become a sloppy make-out--just me and his cock on the backseat getting right down to it--gasping and swallowing around him like a gloryhole twink and moaning with every greedy suck. "Be Daddy's good boy and cum for me… _mmmhmm_ … cum... right in my mouth. Can you do that? Can you…. _uhh, god_ …. can you fuck Daddy's mouth…?" 

_"Ah! Uh! Daddy…."_

He broke beneath me like a cresting wave, thrusting and grinding up into the heat of my mouth with a string of gasping cries as copious as the seed spilling bitter down my throat. 

I was going to hold him--lavish praise and soft words, look into his eyes and let him know we were still so safe, we were still _us_. I would kiss and cuddle and bring him back down to steady earth, making sure there was no trace of shock at himself, no fears of being _weird_. I was going to do all these things and I relished the thought, but for those few seconds as he came, I made myself still and simply let him _fill_ me.


End file.
